


Defunct: Baptisms of Fire

by x_medea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chubby Inquisitor, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Minor Character Death, Pregnancy, Slow Burn, Slowmance, This protagonist is gonna l e a r n, Weekly Updates, fatphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 56,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_medea/pseuds/x_medea
Summary: When the Trevelyans are summoned to the Conclave, they send their heir and his new wife to represent their interests. But after the explosion, only Anne and her unborn baby walk away.Now Anne has to learn how to fight, lead, and be a mother in the Inquisition.Kink Meme fill for this OP.January 1, 2019: Find revised fichere.





	1. My Ansburg Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some info for you, if you're starting to read.
> 
> 1\. I'm updating every Saturday.  
> 2\. This is the first writing I've done in a long time, let alone a novelization. I hope you enjoy it!  
> 3\. Thank you to my very kind and patient beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).  
> 4\. Feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr](http://xmedea.tumblr.com/)!  
> 5\. Please, please feed me comments.

After over two weeks of travel, Anne Trevelyan thought Haven might have looked more worth it. The tiny city of tents surrounding the walls seemed larger than the village itself. Turning her horse down toward the lake, she looked back up at it. Even from a low angle, it was hardly impressive.

_Smaller than Papa’s smallest demesne_ , she thought. The Chantry at the top of the hill was certainly striking, but only for such a small town.

Max dismounted to pass their missive to the soldier. Anne was distracted by her armor - no banner or colors. Anne had expected the Conclave to be guarded by the Chantry’s Templars.

“We’re to stay in the Chantry tonight,” Maxwell announced, coming over to offer his hand. Anne smiled and slid gently down from her sidesaddle as Max’s manservant, Charles, set the grooms went to work with the horses and baggage.

As they walked through the gates, Anne looked back at the soldier and began, “I thought…”

“It would be bigger?” He smiled, looking down at her.

Anne laughed. “Well, yes. But I thought we were here for a peace talk?”

“Well, we are. But it is still a war.” He rested his other hand on his sword. “The mages and Templars won’t come without arms.”

“Then who do these soldiers serve?”

Max looked uneasy. “I’m not sure.”

Another soldier stopped them at the Chantry doors, then had a Mother lead them through the hall. Walking through it was unnerving; there were at least fifty people, but almost none of them were talking. Instead they seemed to mill around each other, some with purpose, some without. Anne clutched Max tighter without realizing it.

At the farthest end of the hall the Mother bent and opened a door with the keys on her belt. It was threadbare, with only two small beds and one lantern.

“We ran out of rooms at the Temple. This will have to do,” she said, already turning on her heel and leaving.

Anne sighed. It would have to do. Sitting on a bed, she craned her neck back to look at her husband. “I’m not sure you’ll fit, Max.”

His broad face broke into a smile and shut the door behind him. “No?” Leaning down, he cupped her face gently. “You know, I always did want to make love in a Chantry.”

Anne burst out laughing in his kiss. “I thought Trevelyans were all good Chantry boys.”

Coming to sit beside her on the bed, Max trailed kisses sweetly down her neck. “All good Chantry boys think bad thoughts. That’s why we go to the Chantry.” Sliding an arm around her, he whispered in her ear, “We need to atone.”

She couldn’t help but giggle as they tried to fit on the bed. She rolled up onto one elbow to see his feet stuck out over the edge.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

Lazily stroking her hair, he conceded, “It’s not. Don’t know how I’ll achieve peace without a proper night’s sleep.”

A smart knock on the door brought them out of their moment. Max huffed but got to his feet to open the door. Charles and some of the men from outside were bringing in their cases.

“Against the wall,” Anne said, gesturing to the farthest corner.  
  
Rubbing his hands together, Max said, “Charles - what do you think they have in the way of supper?”

Tess, Anne’s handmaiden, sidled into the room. “They say there will be a feast tomorrow, but tonight the tavern will be serving.”

Anne bit her lip. It was strange whoever was hosting would not open the peace talks with a feast. Surely the Chantry could spare the money, especially with the Divine in attendance.

“Would you like to rest? I could bring some food back for you,” Max offered.

Anne nodded. “Yes, it’s been a long journey. You go, I’m not hungry yet.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, then walked out, taking Charles with him.

Anne instinctively let her cloak fall, knowing Tess was behind her to take it.

“Did we pack any furs? It’s too cold to sleep in here without a fireplace.”

“No, milady. I’ll ask if any can be brought.”

Anne hummed her thanks. Stripping off her travelling clothes, she chose her warmest dress. It would wrinkle when she slept, but at least she would be warm.

“Lay Max’s warmest clothes out for him tonight. I need a rest.”

Rolling down to the bed, she tried to smooth the dress out as much as possible. Tess moved around her, softly singing to herself. It was Anne’s first real experience out of the Marches, certainly her first real participation as Lady Trevelyan. Had it only been six months since their wedding?

Her mind went to the banquet her parents had in their honor, with Trave Manor covered in flowers, firs, and lanterns. Her hair had been plaited with orange blossoms, with a wreath for a crown. Her husband’s lady mother had made such a fuss about having Anne wear her tiara from her own wedding, but Anne wouldn’t have it. Ansburg may be rural and backwater to most nobles, but it the flower crown was Ansburg tradition, and Anne was proud of her heritage.

Couldn’t some flowers be spared for their room? She almost ordered Tess to find her some, but then she remembered the terrain. Half the mountain couldn’t accommodate trees, let alone flowers. And all that Maker-cursed snow. Sighing, she raised her arm to act as a pillow. Perhaps she had packed poorly, and they had been expected to bring their own pillows and furs. But it hadn’t seemed logical to bring the whole household on parade.

And a parade it had been anyway, with their trunks and grooms. She had always known nobles were expected to show their capability to manage their lands and people with their household, but it had been such a headache. Overseeing their small horde through a turbulent ship journey, a five day carriage ride on the Imperial Highway, and then on foot and horse onto the mountain itself had exhausted her.

Maybe she finally lost a little of the weight her husband’s mother kept nagging her about. Although her own mother had told her having extra weight would be good for a baby, when they had one.

She shook her head, setting off pins and needles in her arm. Bringing it down, she clumsily reached for Tess as she was passing.  
  
“Could you bring my fur-trimmed cloak? We’ll need something to cushion these beds.”

Tess brought it to her and tucked it neatly under her mistress’s head. “Sleep well, milady.”

Anne hummed her thanks again, letting sleep carry her off.

* * *

   
It was late when she woke. Or at least, it felt late. There were no windows, and the Chantry seemed even quieter than before. Tess had lit a candle, but Anne couldn’t remember how tall it had been when she had fallen asleep.

“ _Where the stream sings lullaby,_  
_There blows a lily fair._  
_The twilight gleam is in her eye,_ _  
The night is on her hair…_ ”

_Oh, that’s what woke me up_. Rolling over, she found Max knelt next to her bed.

“Good - you’re awake. I can skip to the good part.” Anne laughed softly; she loved it when he sang to her.

“ _And sometimes when the beetle’s horn_    
_Has lulled the eve to sleep,_ _  
I steal unto her..._ ”

“That’s the good bit? Not the part where I have your heart in thrall?” she whispered, stroking his face.

“No, no, no, it’s when I steal unto you and peep through the door.”

Reaching for him, she sighed happily against his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Max is singing is called [My Lagan Love](https://youtu.be/eNKfX9_4c5I).  
> I'll be using folk songs with some lyrical changes to match Thedas throughout the fic.


	2. Götterdämmerung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this fic is gonna be faithful to the game, it's not gonna always be a straight retelling of the video game. There's a lot of emotional pieces moving at the beginning, so this chapter pretty much follows the Wrath of Heaven. But after this, it won't be so strict and similar to the game.

Something wet and cold was on her head.

_No, my head is on something wet and cold._

Heavy chains clinked as Anne raised her head off the ground. Pressing her palms to the dank ground, she started to push herself up, but something jerked her hands back with a heavy clank. Anne looked down to see her wrists shackled to the wall.

Anne’s stomach dropped.

The bottom of her dress and shoes were soaked in the bilgewater that surrounded her. Looking around, she saw that she was alone in a cell with three walls and a set of bars. Someone was holding her prisoner. Anne’s breath caught tight in her chest. Who had taken her? Why would they? Could it have been the mages? How much was she even worth in ransom?

Screwing her eyes shut tight, Anne forced herself to control of her thoughts. To be practical. _Start at the beginning_ , she thought slowly, _what is the last thing you remember?_ She and Max had woken up and broken their fast at the tavern...they had gone up the mountain to the Temple...they had met with a Lady something and Lord someone...they had…

A dull ache washed through her head. Her mind felt wrong, almost hollow. It took such effort, chasing each disappearing thought. Wincing at the effort it took to think about it further, Anne felt something itch under her nose. Leaning over her hands, she scratched it only to find it was wet. Moving so she wasn’t blocking the light from outside the cell, Anne looked down to see a dark, almost black liquid. Blood.

There was a shriek of rusted hinges being forced open, and a woman’s voice echoed through the cell.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

Anne’s back straightened. Guards were encircling her, guards with their swords already bare. The woman who had spoken entered the cell in full armor, her voice harsh and demeaning. No one had ever spoken to Anne this way before. There was the clean sound of a sword being drawn from a scabbard, and Anne’s attention fixed on the woman’s sword, pointing at her chest.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes is destroyed. Everyone who attended the Conclave is dead.” The woman stopped pacing to look down into her face. “Except you.”

None of those words made sense. Anne couldn’t comprehend them together.

Destroyed…

Dead…

_No, no, that’s impossible. I was there, we were meeting people and talking...we were…_

As she pulled at her memory, trying to think of what came next, something from deep inside her boiled up. Her body rolled, as if to vomit.

The woman made an annoyed noise. The cold tip of the woman’s sword rapped against Anne’s left wrist. “Explain this.”

Anne’s eyes widened in horror. Splitting her palm, straight through what a fortune teller had once said was her life line, was a crack of green light. Now she that she had looked at it, she couldn’t stop feeling it. The green was burning through her fingers, her hand, her wrist, sparking into her forearm.

She fell backwards, trying to distance herself from her unrecognizable hand. “No...no...no…”

Something inside her hand lurched forward, taking Anne with it. There was a burst of green across her mind’s eye as pain lashed up her arm. The bottom of her stomach roared up and Anne’s breakfast was on the floor before she understood that a different woman was holding her hair back.

Soft, gentle hands were stroking her hair. “What do you remember?” the woman asked, her voice kind, like…

“Max,” Anne whispered.

The other two women exchanged looks. Then the first woman sheathed her sword, saying, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to a rift.”

The second woman gave Anne an inscrutable look, then nodded and left.

“Get up.” The first woman hauled Anne to her feet, unlocking her manacles. It might have been a kind gesture, if it hadn’t been followed by one of the guards replacing the shackles with rope and pulling it so tight it pinched her wrists.

The woman and her guards marched Anne out of her cell, then up a flight of stairs. It took Anne a moment to recognize where they were - the cell had been under the Chantry. Her room was just feet away...if she could just go there she would surely find Charles, Tess, Max _..._

 _They must_ _be in there._

Anne tried to make for her room but the woman gripped her tighter. “B-but Max?” Anne asked, looking frantically over her shoulder.

“He is not there,” the woman said sternly, refusing to look at Anne.

Another wave of nausea swept over Anne. Something in the woman’s tone was more unsettling than everything else.

Two guards pushed the doors open for them as they trooped outside. Anne hesitated at the precipice. There was something wrong out there, she could tell. The faces, the horses, the armor, it was all the wrong color. Everything had a sickly green tint to it. The guards forced her to keep walking, pushing her into the putrid color.

“We call it the Breach,” the woman said, looking up to the sky.

Anne followed her gaze. “...Andraste preserve us.”

Above the Temple, gouged through the sky and rippling with green, was the same light that infected her hand. The wounds were identical, down to every jagged gash. Something needy pulled at Anne’s green hand, and she found her bound hands reaching towards the sky.

 _It wants something,_ she felt vaguely. _It wants me…_

“It is a massive rift in the Fade that grows larger with every passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest.”

The woman was pulling her through a throng of people, but Anne didn’t see their glares and disgust. Her head and arms were still trained toward the sky. She desperately wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, the green wouldn’t let her. The Breach spewed a volley of putrid hail over the valley as searing green cut through her vision. Anne’s bad hand screamed, but it wasn’t until she was on her knees, shutting her mouth, that she realized she had screamed with it.

Tears had slid down her face, but she barely noticed. _Max is still up there..._

The woman took her roughly by the elbow, leading her up the mountain towards the gate. “Each time the Breach expands, your Mark spreads. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” The woman gave her a coldly appraising look, clenching her jaw. “We must test your Mark on a smaller rift.”

The woman gestured for three soldiers to join them, then unsheathed her sword. Anne flinched, stepping backwards into the soldiers.

“My name is Cassandra Pentaghast,” she said, taking Anne’s hands and slicing through the ropes. “If you run, I will kill you.”

Anne nodded wordlessly.

The three guards flanked them as they walked through the gate. There was a path, but it was lined with debris - smoldering carts, fallen trees, discarded armor. Soldiers were passing them, their faces grimy and vacant.

It wasn’t until they turned into a small valley that she saw the first dead body. Anne had seen dead people before, but none who died from combat wounds. And this person had been eviscerated. Their coat was flapping open in the wind, with their guts in a pile on top of their body.

Anne stopped in her tracks, her mind struggling to understand. Two of the soldiers pushed past her while the other shoved her down next to the body.

Once again, she found that all she wanted was to look away, but she couldn’t. The wounds didn’t look right. It looked like it had been caused by claws - a wolf? A bear? Her good hand reached out, dazedly miming the wound pattern. Her stomach lurched. Wolves and bears paws had four claws. Only human hands had five fingers.

Anne’s body scrambled backwards, trying to stand and run but stumbling over her still-wet dress. One of the soldiers grabbed her by the collar, choking her, as he brought his blade up.

Cassandra and the other two were running across a frozen stream, toward two hooded somethings. Anne’s mouth fell open in horror.

They were whole, they were real, but they somehow weren’t. Instead of walking, they floated and oozed green; instead of fighting with weapons, they used their own blood-crusted claws and breathed ice.

The first soldier ran at one and bashed it with his shield, trying to put the thing off-balance. Instead it came at him, pushing him down. It landed a large gash on his thigh before the other soldier stabbed it from behind. Black, inky fluid sprayed out as the thing howled and the noise drove all the air out of Anne’s lungs.

Her hands reached up to her guard’s hands on her collar, scrambling and scratching him desperately. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t be here, she had to get away.

Cassandra roared as her sword crashed down and through the the last thing. It died with a shriek and black blood exploded everywhere.

Anne’s guard let her go, and her body reeled backward at the loss of stability. Her right hand came up to cover her nose and mouth. The ichor smelt. Maker, it smelt like blood and pus and something cloyingly sweet.

She was scrabbling to go back down the hill on her knees. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she babbled. “I’m supposed to be at the Conclave, Max and I are supposed to be there.” She was shaking madly, she knew it. From the cold, from the smell, from the fear…

Cassandra pulled her to her feet roughly, then turned her around.

“Please - let me go - ”

Cassandra pulled her close and grabbed Anne by the face. Anne’s wide dark brown eyes met Cassandra’s determined grey ones. _“Do you want to live?”_

_Or die?_

The other half of the question hung in the air. Those were her only choices. She could live or she could die, but she had to choose.

 _Live!_ her body screamed. _Live and find Max_.

“Yes.”

“Then you listen to me.” Cassandra pointed up the hill with her sword. “There is a rift up there. I want you to hold onto Cutler and do not let go.”

As they crested the hill, Anne saw something shimmering in the air. The rift burned brightly, almost like a fire, but entirely the wrong color. Nearly a dozen people were fighting more _things_ around it.

“I’ve got the wraith,” a dwarf shouted, firing off his crossbow.

Anne and Cutler hung back, Anne clinging to his metal-covered arm.

A bald elf was cutting through one of the clawed things with a staff, shooting off blasts of fire. In the back of her mind, Anne could feel something like rational thought wondering why a mage was being allowed to fight.

He suddenly turned, as if he heard Anne, and stalked toward her. She dug her nails in around Cutler’s armored bicep as the elf tried to wrench to her forward by her bad hand.

“We have to move quickly,” the mage shouted. “Give me your hand!”

Cutler pushed her off as the elf dragged her forward. She wanted to snatch her arm away, to yell at him for daring touch her, but something was buzzing in her ears and under her skin. It was like her left arm was thrumming as he brought her closer to the rift. Instinct took over. As the mage thrust her arm forward, Anne made a grabbing gesture at the rift.

There was a feeling like two magnets trying to decide if they were opposed, then the rift snapped closed with her fist.

Anne doubled over, clutching her hand. _It should have hurt_ , she thought. It shouldn’t have felt good. Panting, she rubbed her forearm. It almost felt as if the green had receded a little.

“What,” she said, turning to the mage, “is this?”

He leant against his staff, almost casually. “It is a Mark. Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that Mark upon your hand. I theorized it might be able to close the rifts. It seems I am correct.”

“So it can it close the Breach?” Cassandra asked.

He smiled grimly. “Possibly.”

“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” The dwarf came forward, offering Anne his hand. “I’m Varric Tethras - rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

But Anne’s mind had stopped several moments before. “D-demons?” she repeated, disbelieving. “Those _things_ are demons?”

Everyone exchanged looks. “Andraste’s tits. You didn’t tell her, Seeker?” snapped Varric.

Cassandra cocked an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to question her.

“Yes,” the mage said. “The rifts are allowing demons to cross into our world from the Fade.”

Anne shook her head at him. “No,” she said, a hysterical note in her voice. “No. Demons can’t enter our world. They need a human, they need _a mage_.”

“Tell that to the Breach,” huffed Varric.

She wanted it all to be a dream, but she had never smelt anything so potent as the demon blood they were all splattered with now. She couldn’t have made that up.

“Some Seeker of Truth you are,” Varric continued. “Not telling her the whole story.”

“She was not ready.”

Varric looked up at Anne and his face softened slightly. Sighing, he put a hand on Anne’s arm. “What’s your name?”

She jumped at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Anne.”

“Just Anne?”

“Lady Anne Trevelyan.”

“Right. You stay with us, Lady Anne. Solas, the Seeker, and I, we’re gonna get you through this.”

Anne looked down at the dwarf’s hand, then to his kind face. What else was there to do? She nodded.

It wasn’t three minutes before they found themselves at a rift just in front of a closed gate. The others took up positions while Anne stood next to Cutler.

Knowing the things were demons helped; she could understand everyone’s urgency now. And she could share it, too - Max was still up at the Conclave. He could be surrounded by demons. He would need help, the help she was bringing. He always carried the Trevelyan sword, but she had never seen him use it.

Anne found herself wanting to fight with the others, but she knew she would just hinder them. Only the tear of light in her hand could help and it felt like it _wanted_ to.

This time when the rift was ready to close, Anne was prepared. As the last demon screamed, she felt the hum rise up through her arm and into her head, compelling her to reach out and snatch at the rift. As she closed her fist around the green, she realized it didn’t feel good exactly, only quieter.

Cassandra ordered someone on the opposite side to raise the gate, which turned out to lead to a bridge up towards the Temple.

Anne could see the second woman from before - Leliana? - arguing with several men on the far side.

Varric and Solas stopped to replenish their supplies while Cassandra joined the arguing group, but Anne kept walking towards the opposite gate. She had to keep going, moving, getting closer to Max. There were rifts up ahead and there wasn’t time for squabbling.

As she sidestepped the argument, a small man in Chantry robes split off to stand in front of her, stabbing his finger in her face. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry,” he yelled, “I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Anne flinched, trying to move around him. But Cassandra put her arm out, catching Anne across the chest.

“‘Order me’? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!” Cassandra scoffed.

The Mark flared with a rupture in the sky, making Anne’s eyes water as she clenched her fist.

_We don’t have this time to waste -_

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry and you _will obey me_.”

_\- Max is up there, he needs help -_

Leliana shook her head. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.”

_\- stop stop stop -_

“Justinia is dead! We must elect her replacement, and obey her orders on the matter.”

“ _Do you want to live?”_ Anne snarled, echoing Cassandra to the Chancellor.

Before he could answer, she pushed Cassandra’s arm out from in front of her and to keep walking. A soldier in an unfamiliar set of armor reached out and pulled the Chancellor away.

Leliana only raised her eyebrows. “We can either charge directly up the path,” she said, “or take another path through the mountains.”

Cassandra shook her head. “We lost an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.”

Before anyone could say anymore, Anne stepped forward. “We charge.” The sooner they got to the Temple, the sooner they could save Max.

The Chancellor seemed to want to say something, but the tall soldier put a hand in front of him. Cassandra and Leliana exchanged looks, then nodded.

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley,” Cassandra said, moving on through the gate. The other woman nodded, and turned to a runner.

The trek up the mountain pass was surprisingly quiet, they met no further rifts or demons. For Anne, every step became increasingly difficult. She hadn’t had to walk the entire way that morning. They’d taken a cart, then. Now her feet were achingly cold in her soaked shoes and her empty stomach rumbled loudly, making it that much harder to concentrate. But she had to keep going, she _had_ to, for Max.

The outer gate for the Temple rose in front of them as they crested the last hill. Not far behind them, troops were marching up the mountain, led by Leliana. There was a crash of green above them, and a rift opened in front of them.

The fighters in their group swarmed forward, joined by Leliana’s soldiers. The sounds of battle were becoming more familiar to Anne now - she could tell this time that they were winning handily.  Cutler was suddenly next to her, bringing her closer to the rift as the others cut a path for her. Blood and ichor swirled around her as the green in Anne connected to the green in the rift. She felt the tight battle for control in her marked hand, and the rift slammed shut above them.

“Lady Cassandra!” a man yelled. “You managed to close the rift?”

Anne turned to see a tall man in fine armor helping a limping soldier.

“This was the prisoner’s doing, Commander,” Cassandra said, cocking her head in Anne’s direction.

The man’s eyebrows went up as he surveyed Anne. His eyes were hard and dark, with no trace of pity. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of good people getting you here.” His eyes went behind her, to the camp next to the gate. Anne turned to follow his gaze and saw a Chantry clerk standing over several rows of neatly laid out dead. Any color left Anne's face fled.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade,” Cassandra said. “They say there was a woman behind you - do you remember?”

 _The Fade?_ Anne’s stomach rebelled. She had walked in _the Fade?_ She shook her head dumbly, staring at the covered bodies.

She found herself next to them, staring at the white sheets. Who had these people been? Where was Max?

She went to uncover a body, but the clerk stopped her, only shaking his head. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, uncomprehending. If Max was one of them, she wanted to see him.

“We must press on,” the elf mage said, coming to stand next to her. “We must try to close the Breach.”

Anne only shook her head. _No._ “I have to find Max,” she whispered.

The bald elf only shook his head. “You won’t find him.”

It wasn’t said unkindly, but it was a slap in the face nonetheless. A nasty feeling of emptiness burst through her chest, as though she couldn’t get enough breath. Clutching at her face, Anne could only shake her head, looking around desperately.

Her eyes landed on a blackened sword in a nearby pile of armor and weapons near the bodies. Even with its battered and charred appearance, there was no mistaking the horse of the Trevelyan crest carved into the pommel stone - this was Max’s sword.

The air truly left Anne’s lungs in that moment. It was a soft sound, a defeated sound. Max would never abandon the Trevelyan family sword. Taking it slowly from the pile, Anne held it to her body.

“We must make for the Temple,” the Commander ordered from the front of their group.

“Not the time, Curly,” Varric snapped, walking over to Anne. “My Lady,” he said quietly. “It’s time.”

Tears ran down Anne’s face as she shut her eyes, trying to shut out the world. “You have to walk with us,” he told her, and she felt his hand resting on her arm again. He led her gently through the camp, explaining what she needed to do. “Come through the gate,” he murmured.

Anne had stood here, in this exact spot, only hours before, with Max, but then there had been a set of carved oaken doors here. They had walked through them together, marvelling at the ornate carvings, and Max had made a joke about trying to blaspheme here, like they had in the Chantry the night before.

There was almost nothing left. Everything was in pieces. All around them were charred halves and quarters and less of bodies, still frozen in the positions they died in. Kneeling, praying, some running away. Pieces of the walls still stood, but barely. And the stone - the stone had burned. How could that happen?

Anne fell forward onto her hands and knees, retching. Her body wracked itself, as if desperate to bring up something. But there was nothing left in her.

She couldn’t hear the murmurs being passed amongst their group, not over the roar in her own ears. She rocked back onto her knees and pressed her snow covered hands to her face, but couldn’t feel the cold. There was only the sick heat that permeated the shell of the Temple, and the smell of death.

Max couldn’t have survived this. He wasn’t up here, waiting for her to rescue him. No one could have - _should have_ \- survived this.

Cassandra was right - everyone was dead.

This time, when Cassandra pulled her up, it was much, much gentler. She held Anne’s face firmly again as she asked, “If we take you down there, will you be able to close it?”

It didn’t seem possible. The explosion, the Breach, the demons, the Fade - it couldn’t all be real. Again Anne wanted it all to be a dream, but it clearly wasn’t. She had never been this imaginative. Whatever else was happening, she was clearly trapped in a war that everybody else had started. Anne felt her head nodding. Cutler came up and supported her as they moved through the Temple and followed the stairs downward.

She couldn’t feel anything anymore, only the buzzing cutting through her body as they got closer and closer to what she knew was the Breach. Green shimmered high in the air above her. It felt quiet, as if peacefully resting.

“The rift is closed,” Solas told her. “But it is only temporary. You must open it in order to seal it properly.”

“We must open it to close it?” Cassandra repeated, confused.

Solas nodded. “It will not stay closed like this, we must assault it directly and shut it with the mark.”

Cassandra shook her head at that, but began ordering the soldiers into position. “Form a circle under the Breach, archers to the high ground.” She looked back at Anne and Cutler. “Once you open it, get to the high ground, behind the archers.”

They were directly under the Breach now. “Seal this,” Cassandra said, “for all our sakes.”

The green loomed far above her, now swirling and twisting in the light, as if it could sense it was in danger. Anne slowly raised her marked hand, trying to connect with it. It was nervous, almost twitchy now. The Fade was just through it, she needed to find it. Her mind instinctively opened, and a torrent of chaos broke loose.

A massive demon passed through the rift, but Anne couldn’t see it. The green was filling her up, in her mind, in her arm, in her body. Swords and shields clashed around her, fighting off the monster, as Cutler dragged her away. But the world was gone, Anne was trapped in the in-between. There was green and light and fear, hers and others.

As the battle turned against the demon, Anne’s body started thrumming. Her skin felt like it was boiling with green energy. The green was everywhere. It had invaded her, corrupted her.

When the demon finally fell, it took everything she had to raise her fist and bring the rift down.

The buzzing was gone.

Maybe she was free…

“Max?” she whispered, before the world went dark.


	3. Hear the Mountains Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought you by all four seasons of Battlestar Galactica's soundtrack.

It could have been a minute, it could have been a year, when Anne woke up. For a brief moment she opened her eyes, and all the memories came crashing back. Squeezing her eyes shut, her hands flew to head. But her left arm still felt _wrong_ , and she suddenly jumped away from it.

“Milady,” said a soft voice.

Her head twisted to Max’s bed, where Tess was sitting next to that bald elf from before.

Horrified, she scrambled to sit up. _Max isn’t in his bed, Max isn’t here_ …

Tess came over to kneel next to her, taking Anne’s hands in hers.

“Max?” Anne whispered.

Tess and Solas exchanged looks, and grimacing, Tess looked back to her mistress. Anne started shaking her head.

“He _can’t be_ \- ”

“You were the only survivor of the Conclave," said Solas. " _Ir abelas_."

Anne ripped her hands out of Tess’s and stood up. “No - _no_! Tess, have Charles fetch him here now.”

She whirled around, her finger pointing in Tess’s face. “ _Now_.”

But Tess was looking up at her, tears and pity in her eyes.

A sick feeling hit Anne’s gut. She had never seen her hardened city elf cry.

She could feel her face starting to crumble. “Tess, please?” she whispered.

A sob retched out of her.

“I’ll give a moment,” Solas said, as Tess stood up to hold her.

But as Anne watched him stand up to leave, and her stomach plummeted. This wasn’t what she was supposed to do - she couldn’t go to pieces in front of a stranger. She shouldn’t force him out with her crying.

She pushed out of Tess’s arms and moved to the wall. Leaning against it, her palms stretched flat against the icy stone, she let the cold penetrate her body. It was almost numbing.

“No.”

Solas’s eyes cut straight through her and she winced, it had come out a little too sharp.

Clearing her throat, she tried again. “No. Please...” She motioned for him to sit again, clearing her throat and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Gathering her skirts like a good lady, she moved to sit opposite him.

Pulling several deep breaths into her cold chest, she thought about what was expected. What was needed. “We - I have to plan the funeral,” she noted.

Tess stiffened. She had been watching from where Anne left her, but now she moved up to sit next to her mistress again. “Milady, you can’t.”

Anne’s cold fists clenched, her spine going rigid. _What else are you supposed to do when someone dies?_

“There was no - there is no body to bury. The explosion - it left almost nothing behind,” Tess said jerkily.

The images of charred remains dotting the snow came back to her unbidden. She could feel her stomach trying to heave, but she pushed it down.

Solas’s eyes had been following her every movement. If he had an opinion, he was keeping it to himself. But at least she wasn’t embarrassing herself anymore. He passed her a small bottle from the table, saying, “Here, it will help.”

Anne took it and downed it in one. For the first time in her twenty-three years, she wished she was drinking alcohol. Her head was still spinning, she might as well have had a little fun to get it that way.

“There’ll be a memorial tonight.”

She nodded mutely, still working to arrange her face into a stolid mask. Apparently it was working, because he then started, “You have been asleep for three days, but the Mark appears contained, for now. You are clearly no mage, but it should not spread anymore.”

He waited, as if for a response. Anne only nodded mutely.

“The Breach, however, remains open. And there are still rifts to be taken care of. But in the meantime, you are both stable.”

Anne could feel her head going up and down until one word made her stop abruptly.

“ _Both?_ ”

Solas smiled thinly. “Yes, you are with child.”

 

* * *

 

Whatever reaction they had expected, it probably wasn’t for Anne to ask them both to leave. But this she couldn’t have an audience for.

Just as Tess shut the door, though, Anne cried out, “Solas?”

He sidled back into the room alone.

She didn’t know if wanted the answer to this, but she knew she had to ask. “The Mark...sometimes it doesn’t feel like it’s just in my hand. I need to know - tell me -”

His eyebrows came together. “Where else have you felt it?”

Anne gripped herself, unable to look him in the eyes. “Everywhere,” she whispered.

Solas considered her carefully. “I am a healer and an expert in the Fade, but I am not a midwife. I felt no magic inside you, beside the Mark. I sensed your child - it felt healthy and whole. If it has not damaged the baby before now, I doubt it will.”

She sat back down on the bed and nodded. Solas took his leave again, leaving her to sit in her own thoughts.

As a couple, she and Max had prayed for this. Had asked for Andraste’s blessing and the Maker’s help in conceiving. Max was the youngest, but the Trevelyans had only had girls before him. And now she was carrying the Trevelyan heir with no Max to raise it with.

Tears took her over again.

She was so tired. She was so alone.

Suddenly she was exhausted. She couldn’t stand to be alone with herself anymore. Laying down on the bed, she went back to sleep.

This time, she knew exactly what time it was when she woke up.

She could tell because Tess was moving around the room, setting out her darkest clothes. It had to be time for the memorial.

She sat up and let Tess move around her, undressing her, washing her, plaiting her hair, eventually helping her into a dark brown wool-spun dress. Anne moved through the motions, letting Tess guide her through it.

When Tess was done, she moved Anne to the threshold, put her cloak on, then opened the door.

There was a gentle glow in the Chantry hall. Countless people lined the walls, all holding candles.

Anne walked out to Cassandra, who was holding two candles and two stones - one each for herself, and one set outstretched for Anne. With her was Leliana, a richly dressed woman, and the tall soldier from the bridge.

As Anne took the lit candle from Cassandra, Leliana moved to her other side to flank her. The Right and Left Hands of the Divine, she had heard somewhere a long time ago.

They started to walk through the path the people had created, and Anne followed them. Faint whispers echoed off the walls, words like “Andraste’s chosen” and “the Herald”. People were bowing, but Anne was only looking down into her little flame.

They filed out into village, then out toward the lake. The the soldiers outside were holding torches, creating a lit path. At the edge of the lake were several pyres, along with the Chancellor from the mountain. They streamed down to him, their candles like little lamps floating down the mountainside.

When all the villagers and soldiers had come, the Chancellor began the funeral rites.

Tears began to roll silently down her cheeks. So many dead, so few bodies left…

_I should have died. I should have died with you, Max._

_“No.”_

The voice from inside her stunned her. It was Max’s. So firm, so deep, so annoyed...

_Don’t be angry with me_ , she could imagine begging. _I just…_

_I miss you._ She closed her eyes, pictured him standing behind her, maybe one hand over her belly.

_“You’re carrying our child - if you died, so would she.”_

She? She looked down and rubbed her abdomen. _Yes_ , she decided. _She. It’s going to be a girl_. _A little girl, with her father’s unruly brown hair and blue eyes._

She looked over her shoulder, as if into his eyes. _We’ll need a name for her. A good one._

_“How about Brunnhilde?”_ he would tease. _“I hear it’s a very popular name in Ansburg!”_ His laughter would carry over the frozen lake, echoing off the mountains like the Chancellor's invocations.

_No!_ Anne would yell, because of course she would take him seriously. _We can’t name our daughter that! That’s something your great maiden aunt would be called!_

_“How about Dya for your mother and Jacquetta for mine?”_

She always loved the way he said his ‘J’ names, like a real Orlesian.

_I’m not naming her after anyone._ It would be too hard to keep track of who was who. _But I like Julienne._

She could hear him laughing at her attempt at the accent. She had never been good at Orlesian. It had barely been part of her upbringing - she had only started when her parents began looking for a match for her.

_Yes, she’ll be Julienne_. She smiled.

_“Will you learn how to say it right?”_

Anne rolled her eyes. _Yes, fine. Just for you._

_“No, for her.”_

Anne smiled, squeezing her belly, Max’s hand was over hers, she could _feel_ it...

People were speaking, the Chancellor had asked for a responsorial canticle. His voice was still the loudest, but now she could hear the sounds of quiet sobbing, of people comforting each other.

Solas had said the Breach wasn’t closed and there were still many rifts to close, and here she had spent the day hiding in her room.

Her face, already warm from her tears, grew hot with shame. She was not the only one mourning. She turned her head to look behind her and saw how large the group was, every person illuminated by their little candle or their torch.

She could feel herself slipping into the undertow of her grief and shame.

_“You can’t go to pieces now,”_ Max said.

_I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this._

It was like he was next to her again, his arm around her like normal. _“That doesn’t matter anymore. You’ll learn. You have to. If nothing, for little Julie.”_

She nodded weakly. _You’re right, you’re always right._

_“It’s because I’m older._ ” She could hear the smile in his voice.

Someone brushed passed her and Anne realized the soldiers with torches were coming forward to light the pyres.

The rites were over, now it was time for the grieving to leave or stay as long as they wanted.

As the heat from the fires grew, she retreated a little up the hill to stand with the other mourners.

Max had always loved singing, it was one of the first things they learnt they had in common. Smiling weakly, she started under her breath:

_“A lilac grows on a poisoned thorn_  
_In a dress dirty and torn._  
_Youngin’s a playing, as the black crow flies._  
_Mama’s a-weeping_ _  
Hear the mountains cry.”_

A couple of the women near her had joined her.

_“There was another, a wilder flower_  
_Soft was her heart in its darkest hour_  
_Tears on the ground where her love did die._  
_‘Neath the bloody moon,_ _  
Hear the mountains cry.”_

More were joining in. Anne was surprised, she hadn’t realized it was such a famous song.

_“Oh dig his grave, narrow and deep,_  
_Set a jug of whiskey by his thirsty feet,_  
_And lay two pieces on his roving eyes,_ _  
Two women wailing, as the mountains cry.”_

Now the valley was carrying their song on the wind, with the sound of the roaring pyres. Anne blew out her candle and bent to place her stone in the snow. Her personal memorial to Max.

As if on cue, others moved forward to do the same. Now they were all singing.

_“Oh the wind blows weary,_  
_and the willows sigh,_  
_Rivers of sorrow when the mountains cry,_ _  
Rivers of sorrow when the mountains cry.”_

She watched as people placed their rocks all around hers. Soon a real memorial was growing before her eyes. She realized some people were carrying more than one stone - they had lost more than one person in this fight already. A sick need to stand against this, whatever it was hit her like a bolt from a crossbow. As Charles and Tess place their stones in the pile, Anne moved to stand with them and raise a prayer to Andraste and the Maker. She had the only way to fight whatever killed Max, killed everyone, killed whoever she used to be. She would need all the help she could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is ["When the Mountains Cry"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gscWMfipKM), with some lyrical changes.


	4. To the World Expectant

The next day she rose an hour after dawn, planning to look for Cassandra. Tess had already risen and brought her breakfast. Anne picked at it, she couldn’t tell if it was flavorless or if she just had lost her taste.

The room felt so empty, without Max to help her fill it.

_“I thought you liked your privacy.”_

Anne felt her head drift to the side, as if to rest it on his shoulder. _Not today I don’t._

None of it felt real - not the journey up the mountain, the funeral, nothing. But no dream would go on for this long, and she had never cried in any of her dreams before.

Sighing, she got up and wiped her tears.

She needed to keep moving again, find something to do.

The Chantry was almost empty this morning. As she came out into the village, many people stopped to stare. Again, those whispers of “the Herald of Andraste” followed her. She wanted to keep her head down, but she wouldn’t be able to find Cassandra with her eyes on the ground.

Thankfully, Cassandra found her.

“Lady Anne,” she said in her curt voice. She was in front of some tents, talking with Leliana.

Anne shuffled to stand in front of them. “I-I’d like to talk to you. Both of you. About what comes next.”

The two women exchanged looks, then nodded. Cassandra moved forward to guide her back into the Chantry as Leliana asked for a runner to go get Commander Cullen.

Anne frowned. She still didn’t understand this full army presence.

“Do you not trust me?” she asked point blank when they entered the farthest room.

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “I do not know what to think,” she answered steadily.

“Then why send for the Commander?”

Leliana entered, followed by the tall soldier from the bridge. “Because we are at war,” she said simply. “This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of our forces.”

He gave Anne a stiff nod as he and Leliana moved to the other side of the table. For a moment she thought she should introduce herself, but then she realized he must know who she is by now.

 _“Seems like everyone does,”_ Max would say, smiling ruefully.

Anne bristled slightly. Partially because she couldn’t think about Max right now, but also because the Commander seemed to be glaring at her.  

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Cassandra asked, gesturing for Anne to take a seat.

But since they weren’t sitting, Anne wasn’t going to sit either. It would have felt like a concession.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “I want to do something. I want to help.”

All three looked surprised.

“Am I still the only one who can close the rifts?”

Leliana nodded, folding her arms. “So you want to help us close the rifts.” It sounded like a challenge, as though she thought that was all Anne would do.

“Yes,” she said.

Leliana cocked an eyebrow, there was no mistaking it _was_ a challenge. Anne quickly added, “Well, I want to help anyway I can, but I -” she faltered, looking up at the Commander. “But I don’t know how to fight. And with…” Her good hand went to rest on her belly.

He stood back, looking at her speculatively. Anne wanted to squirm. His face wasn’t exactly disgusted, but there was no mistaking his low opinion. She could guess what he saw: a soft, fat noble with no training or skills.

“There is no way we can protect you and your baby,” he finally said.

Cassandra’s eyebrows knitted together while Leliana shot him a look.

“We could teach her to use a bow - a ranged defense would be safest,” offered Cassandra.

“But that won’t protect her or the baby,” Rutherford insisted.

“We could give her an entourage, let her travel with a squad - ”

“I don’t have the men to spare,” he all but spat, glaring at them.

Leliana turned that cocked her eyebrow on him. “ _You_ don’t.”

The bickering was useless. “I’m willing to learn,” Anne said, taking a step toward the table. “I’ll work until I can’t anymore -” she gestured downward to her belly - “but I can’t just…”

For a moment she could imagine Max wrapping his arm around her, telling her not to get upset.

“I can’t just sit here,” she finished quietly.

The Commander did not look impressed. “I have work to do,” he said, leaving the room.

Cassandra sighed and scrubbed her face, then looked at Anne. “Are you really willing to learn to fight? Have you ever been in a battle before four days ago?”

Anne shook her head. “But I’ll learn.”

“It will be a hard life on the road,” Leliana said. “We don’t have the resources for you to stay in taverns. And these rifts are being reported all over Thedas. We do not even have mounts.”

“I have one,” Anne offered. “The palfrey I rode here.”

Cassandra and Leliana both shook their heads. “You would need a war horse, trained to handle combat,” Leliana explained.

“Oh.” She felt silly, of course the palfrey she rode in on was useless - it had been spooked by a barn spider at one tavern they stayed in. It would probably rear and dump her if it saw a demon.

“We can give you armor and train you, but Cullen is right, we cannot guarantee the safety of your child.” At least the voice Cassandra used was kinder than the Commander’s.

Anne shut her eyes, but nodded.

“Cassandra, would you bring Josephine in?” Leliana asked.

As Cassandra passed her, Anne had a feeling there was a reason Leliana wanted to be alone with her.

“You know who I am?” she asked sharply.

 _The Divine’s spymaster_. Anne nodded again.

“Then you will know I have already looked into your background. I’ve never seen a closet so empty of skeletons.”

Anne shifted uncomfortably. She couldn’t tell if Leliana was happy about that or not, or what she was expecting Anne to say. The Left Hand was clearly playing a game, but Anne didn’t know any of the rules.

“My Lady Anne,” came a sweet voice from behind her. The richly dressed woman from the night before was shutting the door.

“The Lady Josephine Montilyet,” Cassandra said.

Josephine dipped in a slight cursey. “I am so sor - ”

“Thank you,” Anne said, too quickly. Her face flushed dully at her bad manners, but Anne couldn’t bear to hear condolences. Something about the thought of it repulsed her.

The lady borne the insult well, her face hardly even flickering in dismay. She moved to join the other two on their side of the table, saying, “I have been handling our correspondence so far. I sent word to Ansburg and Ostwick already of…” She paused, clearly considering the best way to phrase the end of her sentence. “...your health and circumstances.”

Anne had to admit, it was the politest way anyone could state it.

Cassandra was hauling a large book off of the shelf onto the table. “The people out there are calling you the Herald of Andraste.”

“The name is spreading,” Leliana said. “I’ve heard reports from farther and farther away with tales of your heroism.”

Anne felt sick. Nothing she had done so far was heroic. “But I haven’t  - ”

“They cannot explain it any other way,” Cassandra interjected. “A woman walks out of a rift - the sole survivor of an explosion that levelled our Temple. Another woman was seen behind her, as if guiding her - some say it was Andraste herself. And now she carries a mark that can stem the tide of demons.”

Anne looked down at her bad hand; it certainly didn’t feel holy.

“Lady Anne,” Josephine said, her head ducking to find Anne’s eyes. “I think it best we use this belief. It will help others come to our cause.”

Anne’s eyes narrowed. “What cause?”

Cassandra tapped the book. “This is a writ from Divine Justinia, her final one. It proclaims for us to start a new Inquisition. As of yesterday, we have reinstated it.”

Anne looked at the book, then to the three women. If that was meant to explain anything to her, it couldn’t have been less helpful. “But what does that mean?”

“It means,” Leliana said, her eyes narrowing, “that we are going to work to bring peace between the mages and the Templars ourselves. Just like the first Inquisition, our goal is to preserve order.”

“Preserve order?”

Cassandra nodded. “Against whatever opened the rift.”

“We are fighting a two-front war,” Leliana said, opening her hands. She raised her left hand: “One between the mortals,” she then raised her right hand, “and one against the heavens. The Inquisition will work for peace between the Templars and Mages, and also wage war against whoever caused the Breach.”

“And I would be a member of it? Closing the rifts?”

They nodded.

“Then when will training begin?”

The four of them smiled.

* * *

 

Anne did not leave when the other women did. Instead she stood against the door, thinking. Cassandra had said it would take some time to find extra armor that might fit, and then they would be looking for an appropriate archery teacher.

Anne still felt embarrassed about how she had treated Lady Montilyet. She had been taught never to interrupt, especially when someone is being kind, but she just couldn’t…

She moved down towards the altar and knelt to pray.

It felt wrong to clasp her bad hand in prayer, like a perversion of faith. But she didn’t know how else to do it. She had been raised faithful, but never like Max. His family were staunch believers, devout and virtuous. She had been raised to go to the Chantry for holy days and for guidance.

There was one thought she couldn’t put down: _Max should have survived, not me_.

The clarity from last night was still there - that he would be angry if he heard that and that it was important she survived with their child.

But still, the guilt sat deep in her gut. After all, he had been trained for combat, he had competed in tourneys, he understood the politics...

A cough made her look up. Several men and women had joined her in prayer, all of them watching her.

Her cheeks flamed. _And now people think I’m holy_.

It felt so wrong. She was nobody.

 _"No, never a nobody,"_ he would assure her. 

Her mind flashed back to the night before, the image of the pyres and the hundreds of stones piled in memorial. _How many people died on that mountain? How many people died while I survived, fell through a rift, and came back with this on my hand?_

 _"Does it matter?"_ Max whispered, coming to kneel next to her. _"Punishing yourself won't help anyone. There's more going on here."_

Anne had turned her palms up, as if to show them to him. One good one, one marked one. Even without the Breach calling to it or a connection to a rift, it still glowed faintly. She looked up to the statue of Andraste, who had only been a slave when the Maker had called her to a higher cause.

 _Maybe there's a reason for all this,_ she was telling him, looking into his deep, kind eyes.  _You and I came for to sue for peace._

Maybe she could still help bring it.

She looked back to Andraste, and she remembered one of the Exaltations: “Let me be the vessel/Which bears the Light of your promise/To the world expectant.”

Anne’s hands gripped each other tightly. _Maker, I’ll do anything, just let our child live_. _I will go anywhere, do anything, just let her live_.

A tear rolled down her face. If all of this had to happen, then there was a reason for her to survive. She would help the world, she would save it for her daughter.


	5. For Service and Devotion

“You’re still not anchoring it correctly, noble!” Josmael shouted.

Anne could scream.

She was a week into her training, and felt like she was getting nowhere. The elf was one of three teachers working with her, taking it in shifts from their time away from the army, and each had a different approach.

She had thought it would help to have several techniques to learn from in the beginning, but now she could see why Leliana had been concerned.

Josmael was behind her, fixing her grip. “You want to pick one spot each time. This,” he said, pulling the arrow to about her chin, “is the minimum.”

Anne may have wanted to scream, but her muscles really were. She couldn’t get a good anchor because her arms were so exhausted. She had never realized the wiry shepherds in her fields were so strong, that they could draw these bowstrings back so easily.

She had been trying to train by doing press ups, but she wasn’t having much success there either.

Anne nodded to Josmael. He had already made it plenty clear he wasn’t there to listen to her complaining.

Nocking the arrow again, she pulled back to her chin, then tried to get it just a little farther. She knew in her mind where she wanted to pull it to, but her fingers released before she could reach it and the arrow fell well short of the target.

She nearly threw the bow down in disgust.

“Did Andraste ever go through this?” she muttered.

“Wouldn’t know,” Josmael said, all business-like. “We raise our children with the Goddess of the Hunt.”

It was one more snide comment on her lack of skills, and Anne wasn’t having it.

Glaring at him, she pulled off her wristguard.

“Oh, giving up so easy?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Shall I go report it to the Commander while you take a long soak and eat a nice sweet roll?”

Anne would give her inheritance for a bath and a sweet roll. The healers estimated she was about three months along, but her appetite had definitely increased in the past few days.

Then again, she certainly was doing a lot more than she was used to.

“How do you expect me to do well when you treat me like this?” she snapped.

Josmael smiled, leaning on his own longbow. “If you think I’m bad, wait till you’re out in the field.”

Anne’s mouth opened and shut several times. The elf had her there.

With a huff, she snatched up her wrist guard and started tying it back on. Josmael threw back his head and laughed.

She could punch him.

* * *

 

An hour later the sun was setting and Anne was walking back into Haven. The walk back from the training grounds always made her uncomfortable. Between the soldiers discussing her performance of the day and the villagers’ deference, it made for an awkward moment every time.

Varric was sitting next to a fire just inside, cooking something.

Anne stopped to join him. Out of everyone in the village, he was the only one who was particularly friendly. And who hadn’t tried to apologize for her loss.

“Any luck today?” he asked, adding some mealy carrots to his pot.

Anne shook her head.

“Maybe tomorrow, Lady,” he said kindly. It was hardly a nickname, but he seemed to have one for everyone.

He had been saying the same thing for a week and her shooting had hardly gotten better. “I think I need more than luck,” Anne said, drawing her knees up to rest her head on them.

Varric laughed. “We all do.” He pat the crossbow next to him. “That’s why I’ve got Bianca.”

She sighed. Not for the first time she envied him that crossbow. But Cassandra and Leliana had explained that without Varric’s other close-range skills, a crossbow would be useless to her. A bow was more efficient, not to mention far cheaper and lighter.

Night was closing in fast now, she could see the Commander stalking up the hill. As the last few people straggled through, he ordered the gates shut. It was safer that way, he had said, after dark.

“Dinner, milady,” Tess said, pulling Anne out of her thoughts. She was holding two plates of nondescript food.

Anne accepted hers with a smile, and Tess began to move off before -

“Hey! Why don’t you eat with us?”

Anne’s head whipped around to look at Varric in confusion. Had he just asked her servant to eat with them?

Tess shifted uncomfortably, looking shocked. “I don’t think - that is, it’s not my place -”

“Nah, c’mon!” Varric chided, standing up to make room on his log for her.

Tess looked anxiously to Anne, who shook her head.

“No, but thank you, Master Tethras,” Tess said quickly, scuttling off.

Varric sighed then shot Anne a very sarcastic look.

Picking at the bread, she shrugged. “What?”

“How long have you known her?”

Anne didn’t like the way he was looking at her. His tone was perfectly amiable, but she could feel he was driving at something.

“About ten years, I think.”

“And in those ten years, you’ve never eaten together?” Anne shook her head. “Not even on the road, in a tavern, when all the other tables were full?”

Again she shook her head. “I don’t see your point, Varric.”

“I bet she could tell me exactly how long she’s been working for you,” he remarked, going back to his stew.

Anne looked from him to her food. She could see what he was driving at, and it didn’t sit well with her.

“I need to go -”

“Pray,” he finished. “I wanted to ask about that too.” He wasn’t looking at her, but she could tell he was still paying very close attention. “You really buying into the Herald of Andraste thing, or is this Nightingale's work?”

She knew he was talking about Leliana by her nickname. “No, this is something I do for myself.”

He looked up. “So it’s got nothing to do with the people who pray with you?”

Anne stood up, feeling judged. “No,” she said unconvincingly. Of course it had something to do with them, but she didn’t want him to know that. “It’s because I need all the help I can get.”

She left her plate and started off, though she could have sworn she heard him mumble “except for your servant’s.”

She clenched her palms in frustration, making her marked hand spark a little. It was a nasty side effect she couldn’t figure out how to control. She didn’t like how it gave away her feelings. If it had to be there, the least it could do is be quiet.

Anne entered the Chantry and sighed. She could guess Varric assumed she wanted to be worshipped by the people who joined her, but that wasn’t it. The people who had started praying with her - they were all grieving. It was easier to be quiet and still with them, and she craved that peace they provided.

Every night the group that prayed with her grew. But they always left a pathway for her so that she could sit at the front. Anne suspected there was a competition of sorts going on for who could kneel closest to her, but she didn’t want it confirmed. She came for her own reasons, not theirs.

All she wanted was to pray, to feel as though the Maker truly was watching over her. In truth, the only time she felt safe was in front of the altar.

Tonight her folded hands rested over Julienne. She always seemed much more preoccupied with her daughter at night, she noticed.

The started her prayers with Exultations - wishing to be the Maker’s vessel. It had become a kind of meditation - a way for her mind to feel peace. She could feel her body relaxing as she recited the prayer over and over.

She had also started a tally of prayers for Julienne, for a swift end to whatever she was trapped in, for her family’s harvest…

 _“You could include my family, too,”_ she could hear Max saying, kneeling next to her.

She smiled. _One day I’m going to be the one who’s always right._

 _“Sure, but not today,”_ he would quip. She added the Trevelyans to the litany, wishing Andraste to guide them through their grief.

The candles had burnt significantly by the time she was done.

She gathered herself and stood, surprised that most of the other worshippers hadn’t left yet. It wasn’t until she had started towards her room that they finished and began to leave.

“They look to you for guidance.”

Anne spun to see Cassandra next to a pillar. How long had she been watching?

“I am moved by your piety. I did not expect it,” she continued.

Anne fought the urge to cross her arms.

“Leliana and I questioned your servants before we came to speak to you.”

 _Interrogated, you mean_ , Anne thought snidely. Her peace had been interrupted, and it aggravated her. And she had already considered that Tess and Charles had been similarly questioned before Tess came to confess it. She almost snapped something back at Cassandra, but reconsidered. It was done and couldn’t be changed.

“They said your husband was pious, but they did not mention you were.”

Anne flinched at the mention of Max but shrugged. “I wasn’t.”

Cassandra cocked her head. “But you are now? It certainly looks genuine.”

Anne felt like squirming. She didn’t want to answer these questions. “Cassandra, may I be forward?”

The Seeker nodded, frowning.

“I can’t tell if your directness is a character trait or a tactic.”

Even Anne was surprised at her daring. She had meant to frame that more carefully, but it had slipped out before she had finished arranging it.

Cassandra was certainly taken aback. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but then shook her head, as if thinking better of it. “I have been told I am also very forward. I apologize. I only meant to say that I am glad you have found solace somewhere. It is inspiring to watch.”

Anne blushed and ducked her head. She didn’t know what to with that either.

Cassandra was walking toward her. “Josephine asked for me to bring you to her office when you had finished. Do you have a moment?”

Relieved at the topic change, Anne nodded and walked with her to the door just across from her own bedroom.

Josephine had set out several piles around her desk and was taking notes on her writing board. She had smudged some ink across her cheek and on her lovely clothes.

“Oh! Thank you, Cassandra. Lady Anne?” She gestured for her to join her around the other side of the desk.

“I’ve composed a letter for the Trevelyans and Traves.” She pointed to the top of two piles. “I understand your servant Charles is leaving tomorrow?”

Anne nodded. Charles had asked to be released back to the Trevelyans two days ago and had been preparing to return ever since. She was sad to see him go, but she really didn’t have anything for him to do.

She picked up the letter to her parents, squinting at it. She couldn’t make it out at all, it was a wonder Josephine had written it so neatly. She moved around to one of the cluster of candles to read it. It was diplomatic, but…

“Lady Josephine?”

“Hmm?” Josephine jerked up from a different pile.

Anne was suddenly struck by how harried she looked. “Are you alright?”

Josephine smile and looked embarrassed. “Yes, I...I well, I’m not used to working in such conditions, but we’re all making due, aren’t we?”

Looking around the windowless room, Anne realized she must be working around the clock by candlelight. “Don’t we have any torches to spare?”

Josephine blustered, and Anne realized that most of them were being used by the army.

“Just a moment.”

She went across to her room, lit one of the candles off of the torch that seemed to always magically be there, then took the torch off the wall. Josephine clearly needed it more than she did.

“Oh - Herald - I couldn’t,” she said when Anne reappeared with the torch.

Hanging it on the wall, Anne rebuked her that of course she could. “Besides it’s always there, even when I’m not. Anyway, the letter, it’s very…”

“Do you not like it?” Josephine asked, looking worried.

“No, it’s fine, but...” There was no mention of fighting demons or that she was helping to close the rifts. It was almost possible to read it without noticing she was involved at all, beyond stepping out of a rift. “It’s very sanitized,” she ended lamely.

Josephine brought the letter over to read it with her. “I thought that might be best. You had mentioned your family did not have a history in warfare and that the Trevelyans were very traditional. I thought it best to leave out the extent of your involvement.”

Anne looked from the letter then back to Josephine. She was probably right. Her parents would worry needlessly and the Trevelyans would be horrified - especially given her condition. Anne rubbed her belly absently. “Yes, I agree,” she sighed. “It just feels…”

Josephine gave her an understanding smile. “It is hard to be away from your family. It is your first time, no?”

Anne nodded. She was surprised how emotional it was making her.

Clearing her throat, she said, “The letters are good, thank you. If you’ll excuse me…”

“ _I miss them too_ ,” Max said, as if walking beside her.

Anne shut the door. _I miss you._

“ _I miss you most,”_ he whispered in her ear. She could imagine his arms around her, holding her close to his chest.

“Milady?”

Anne jumped, Tess had just come in.

Anne woke up crying for the first time that morning. After offering her prayers Andraste, she realized it was because she hadn’t been able to go to sleep after them the night before. She would have to make it a rule not to be interrupted after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title for this chapter was "fuuuuuuuck".  
> The title ended up being from ["9 to 5"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbxUSsFXYo4).
> 
> July 3 edit: I just noticed some similarities to the Josmael scene and one in Tamora Pierce's Song of the Lioness quartet. I guess it was so formative, it was like an inception. Anyway, all hail Tamora Pierce.


	6. Divinity

Cassandra had left a few days later to scout for a Grey Warden, and then to vet a mercenary group that Leliana thought could be Anne’s bodyguards.

The Warden Blackwall had come within a week, escorting a Chantry Mother, and Anne couldn’t have been more grateful. It turned out he was used to training Grey Warden recruits, and he had offered to take over her archery lessons.

His first instruction had been for her to start wearing her armor in training. Anne had been resisting, given how horribly ugly it was. The yellow plaidweave was heinous enough, but even worse were the large bloodstains covering it. It was a constant reminder that it had come from one of the people who had died fighting the Breach.

She had initially pushed back against the instruction, but once they started, she could see his wisdom. The light mail and jupon overtop it completely changed her movements, making her fumble more than usual. That plus extra weight it added and heat it generated meant that she had to almost lost all the ground she’d gained over the previous two weeks.

So they spent their first morning just doing drills, getting Anne used to the motions of using a bow and arrow. By lunch, she was having a much easier time nocking her arrows, and somehow Blackwall had a knack of making that still feel like a victory. 

When it was time for lunch, Anne was surprised to see Mother Giselle bringing them a large tray of foods.

“I thought we could have a picnic,” she said gently, sitting down between them.

Anne ripped off the jupon and mail as fast as she could and grabbed for the bread - she was always starving now. Half her piece was gone before she realized her rudeness. “I’m sorry, should we offer a prayer?” she asked the Mother.

Giselle smiled and shook her head, picking over a piece of jerked meat. “The Maker knows you’re eating for two, I think He understands.”

Anne smiled and continued to plough through the food. Thankfully someone must have told Giselle about her enormous appetite, she could see the Mother had brought more than enough.

It was a gentle silence while they ate. Anne imagined they were both tired from their journey. They made an odd pair - a gruff warrior and a gentle Chantry Mother. They had both come from the heat of battle in Ferelden, from what Anne had gathered from Cassandra’s report. 

While Blackwall was all battle and scars, Mother Giselle looked untouched by the battles. Anne had watched her, just as Mother Giselle had watched her when she first arrived. At this moment, besides that Chancellor Roderick, she was the most senior Chantry representative at Haven. Anne had feared that the Mother would reject her and their cause during their meeting in the War Room, but besides some terse words from the Commander, it had gone surprisingly well. Giselle had offered names of those who were sympathetic and others who could be swayed, and pledged herself to the Inquisition.

Anne followed the Mother’s soft gaze down from their training hillside to the Commander’s recruits. From here she could see their training, watch Rutherford putting them through their paces, sometimes she even heard snippets of conversations. But of course that meant all of them could see and hear her too, giving her a constant nagging feeling that she was being mocked.

“What do you see as the future of this Inquisition, Lady Anne?” Mother Giselle asked, breaking the silence.

Anne frowned down at the troops. They were the future, as far as she could tell. She took a sip of Flissa’s weak ale, tapping absently on the wineskin. “I see war.”

“Without end?” Giselle prompted.

Anne looked back to her and Blackwall. The pair of them had angled themselves toward her, watching her with cocked heads.

“When it ends, there will still be work for the soldiers to do,” she said slowly.

Blackwall’s caterpillar-thick eyebrows came together sharply. “But you don’t think you would stay?”

Anne almost laughed. Why would she - she could only serve one function here. She was already a burden, she imagined they would all be glad once her purpose was served and she returned home.

When she made no reply, Mother Giselle pursed her lips. “Do you value yourself so little? I have seen you are a vital part of the Inquisition’s leadership.”

_ Hardly, _ she thought. “I am here to assist with the rifts, not to lead.”

Blackwall shook his head. “You’re the Herald - that doesn’t just end.”

Anne’s eyes widened. “I - well, I…” She didn’t understand at all what they were trying to say. “I don’t make decisions in the Inquisition...” 

Mother Giselle moved to sit next to her. “What do  _ you  _ see as your place in this?” she asked, cupping Anne’s hands in her own.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Do you sit with the War Council when they make their decisions?” Giselle asked, her almond-shaped eyes so kind.

Anne nodded.

“Are you trying to bring peace to Thedas?”

She nodded again.

“Are you working now so that you can better serve the Maker and His purpose?”

Anne bit her lip. It was exactly what she was doing, but it felt so strange to hear it said out loud. “But I don’t feel holy.”

“That does not make your purpose any less important,” Giselle reasoned. “I cannot say if the Maker sent you, but I believe you are here for a reason.”

Something settled in her chest, something that she hadn’t even recognized was there. To hear someone else say it… “I believe He sent me,” she confessed. “I believe it, but I shouldn’t. I’m not -”

“The Maker works in many ways, we cannot always see or understand His plan,” Giselle cut in gently. “We are on paths forged by Him, we are all marked for His purpose.”

“But am I...do you think I’m…”

“Divine?” Blackwall prompted.

Anne looked up to him. Her head felt heavy, just like her hand, as though the magic was growing. It sparked more, especially at night. Tess never made any comment, but Anne could tell it scared her.

“I am not what I was,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

Mother Giselle clasped her hand. “You are still yourself, Anne Trevelyan. The Maker Himself set you on this journey long before the Conclave. Have faith.”

“You’re doing your best,” Blackwall added. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

When the tears had started, she didn’t know. It felt like she was always crying now. She imagined Max handing her a handkerchief as she wiped her eyes. 

_ “He’s right, you know. You -” _

“I have this Mark for a reason,” Anne said, as though finishing Max’s thought. “I just don’t know the reason yet.”

Giselle nodded, wiping away a last stray tear. “I think the Maker has His hand on you. He will guide you, when you are lost.”

Anne smiled weakly. They sat comfortably in their silence again, watching the fresh-faced youths below begin their sword drills and passing the weak ale around. But they all had work to do, and when they stood and helped Mother Giselle pack up her tray, the quiet was over.

There was always more to be done.


	7. The Chargers

It had been threatening to rain all morning.

Anne secretly hoped it would - if it was raining, training would have to stop. She let her last arrow fly, striking near the top of the target. It was her fifth arrow in a row to fly true - that meant an early lunch, like Blackwall had promised.

They were about to pack it in, when a voice boomed out.

“Chargers! I think we found it!”

Anne looked round to find the largest Qunari she had ever seen. Blackwall had drawn his broadsword, but Anne stopped him.

“The Bull’s Chargers?” she asked.

He smiled. “The Inquisition?”

Anne craned her head back as he came to stand with them. He really was a behemoth. A one-eyed behemoth. Anne was only level with his biceps, which looked to be about the size of her head. She was tempted to actually measure herself against the muscle when he reached out a hand.

It was a strange feeling, shaking hands. For one, Anne hadn’t really done it much. She was more for bows and curtseys. For another, by the look of him, a handshake should have pummeled her into the dirt, but his grip was surprisingly gentle.

“You must be the Herald, eh?” he asked, cocking his head and looking her over with his one good eye.

Anne clenched her left hand into her skirts self-consciously. “Lady Anne,” she confirmed.

“The Iron Bull.”

Blackwall cleared his throat loudly, he still looked doubtful.

“This is the company Cassandra’s engaged for my protection,” Anne offered. “The Iron Bull, this is Warden Blackwall.”

It wasn’t hard to notice that their handshake was much more forceful than hers had been.

“Company, you say, my Lady?” he asked, his eyebrow furrowing.

“Yes, a -”

“Mercenary company,” Bull interrupted.

Anne’s head jerked to look at him and her jaw tightened at being cut across. The Qunari clearly didn’t understand what he had wrong. She had heard the Qun had a harsh hierarchy, but maybe he didn’t know how to apply his manners outside of his normal society. Maybe his job meant reporting to her hadn’t been explained properly. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Anne breathed a sigh of relief - if it was really to storm, that would mean no afternoon lessons.

“Shall we to lunch?” she said, turning back to the village.

They walked back to the Chantry in silence. Anne noticed Blackwall stop a runner when they were at the gate, but she didn’t ask questions. She wanted to get to Josephine and ask about how to broach her Qunari’s etiquette, and besides, it was starting to rain.

Once inside the Chantry, she took up a seat along the chancel, where lunch was served for the higher members of the Inquisition. Anne was grateful Josephine already was there, but her relief vanished when the Iron Bull and all his Chargers sat down to join them.

Anne looked in alarm from him, to his group, to Josephine, who was clearly trying to hide her surprise.

“The Iron Bull?” Josephine asked sweetly, recovering.

He nodded.

“And...the Bull’s Chargers, I presume?”

He raised one eyebrow very deliberately.

Even Anne could see his dare for to tell them to go eat somewhere else. But Josephine didn’t take the dare, instead passing a basket of rolls to the Qunari and making her own introductions.

He accepted with a smirk, letting his eyebrow slowly go down.

Chatter began to fill the Chantry as the Chargers talked. Anne counted six, besides the Bull himself. She watched them over her cup as she drank.

They were a mixed race company - a dwarf, two elves, three humans - and none of them had any table manners.

Well, one man seemed better than the rest - at least he was using his fork and knife.

“Do I detect a Tevinter accent?” Josephine asked him delicately.

_“She really is a diplomat, isn’t she? If that’s her first question.”_

Anne wanted to swat Max away.

He was leaning next to her, clearly enjoying her discomfort. _“Doesn’t ask you about your archery today, just about some accent.”_

Anne felt her lips go thin.

“Yes, originally,” the soldier replied. “Cremisius Aclassi - Krem. The Chief’s second-in-command.”

“We don’t hold it against him,” the Iron Bull said, clapping Krem on the back. “I guess Vints can’t all be fucking bastards.”

Anne all but spit out her small beer. As she mopped herself with a rag, she could see the Iron Bull watching her.

“At least a bastard knows who his mother is,” Krem remarked dryly. “Puts them one up on you Qunari, right?”

Josephine handed Anne another rag, her wide eyes the only sign she was alarmed. She was already putting herself to rights, primly fixing her clothes.

 _“Look at her smoothing her skirts - she’s a genius,”_ Max whispered, laughing.

 _Glad one of us is,_ Anne thought bitterly.

_“Two.”_

Anne’s eyebrows knit together. _Two?_ For a moment she thought it was his fake flattery, but then -

_“Look at the Bull. He’s still watching you.”_

Anne’s stomach turned over as she looked back to the Iron Bull. The conversation had gone one without both of them; he was indeed still watching her.

 _Did he use that language on purpose?_ She was trying to make her gaze casual, but her body gave away she was regarding him when she sat forward in her chair. A lopsided grin came over his face and she felt it click into place - _he’s testing you. Just like Leliana and the others, he’s testing you._

She was spared dealing with this, because at that moment the Commander came in, shaking the rain off his surcoat.

And he had brought her practice target.

“Absolutely not!” a shrill voice rang out.

Chancellor Roderick was coming up the nave to Rutherford. “No - take that back outside right now.”

Rutherford bristled at the cleric. “Lady Anne needs to train.”

The Chancellor looked back to her. “The Herald respects the Chantry, she will not practice your warmongering inside a house of peace and worship.”

Anne closed her eyes.

 _“You’re needed,”_ Max nagged.

_I am aware._

_“So get out there.”_

She could imagine his light slap on her backside as she got up. _Max has been much more annoying since the Conclave,_ she thought.

“Has Warden Blackwall ordered this?” she asked, coming to stand between the two men.

Rutherford folded his arms and nodded curtly.

Anne groaned internally, so much for a free afternoon. This must have been what he sent the runner for.

“I won’t practice war next to the altar of Andraste -”

Chancellor Roderick made a triumphant noise. “You see, Commander. And if you would only take my advice and align with the Chantry, we would not even need a pregnant widow to defend us.”

Anne all but growled. “I will not practice war next to the altar of Andraste, Chancellor. But I will in the dungeons.”

His bright smile fell into confusion, then a patronizing sneer. “My Lady Herald -”

“Needs to train,” the Commander interrupted.

“This is sacred ground, my Lady Herald. You cannot - I cannot possibly allow -”

Something ugly inside her roared to life. “But you could allow me to be bound and shackled.”

Roderick looked shocked. “That was - that was an emergency,” he said, desperate to recover.

“Tell me no trespasses against Andraste have been committed in that dungeon and I will order them out.”

He opened his mouth several times, still in shock.

“I think you will find we are still in an emergency, Chancellor,” she said with finality.

Mother Giselle and the Iron Bull had sidled next to Anne when she wasn’t watching.

“I can take that target down, if you like,” he offered.

Anne nodded while Rutherford moved to get the door for him.

“Pray for our cause,” Anne said to the Chancellor. “That we won’t ever need to do this again.”

She went back to the table to gather her jupon, mail, and a last roll, then walked down to the dungeons, leaving Mother Giselle to deal with Roderick.

The Commander followed her down, along with the Chargers.

The Iron Bull had already set the target up at roughly the same distance as outside.

Anne sighed and slumped against the wall, waiting for Blackwall.

“Well?”

She looked to the Qunari, who was watching her expectantly.

“It’s not normally like this -” she started, not really in a mood to apologize.

“No, I meant, aren’t you going to start?”

She looked confusedly at the small crowd. “But Blackwall -”

“Is getting lunch. I need to see what you can do.”

 _Is he interrupting me this much on purpose?_ she thought angrily. “Blackwall has my bow.”

“Well, he shouldn’t. You need to start carrying that with you everywhere.”

Anne glared at him. Her patience was running thinner and thinner.

“Look, if I’m gonna protect you, I need to know what you can do. Strengths, weaknesses, warts and all.” He looked over at the Chargers. “Dalish, give her your bow.”

One of the elves stepped forward, unslinging her quiver and bow. Anne took them and got into her stance. She was nocking her arrow when suddenly -

“ _Stop!_ ”

The Commander’s order had made her jump so much, she had almost loosed the arrow on accident. She looked back at him, wishing looks could kill.

“You aren’t wearing a wristguard,” he said sharply.

Dalish was untying hers, passing it off to Anne, who snatched it, cursing herself for her stupid mistake.

As she tied it, she kept her head down, trying desperate to keep the red from rising up her face. If it reached her prickling eyes, she knew she would cry. She deliberately tied it too tight, trying to keep her focus on the pain instead.

The only good thing about this whole situation was that the elf’s bow was lighter than her own.

She inhaled.

_You hit the target five times consecutively, this bow’s lighter - you’ll be able to hit it no problem._

She exhaled and let the arrow fly.

The moment she did, she knew she had completely overshot it. The arrow clattered a good twenty feet behind the target.

She heard an annoyed sigh behind her. It was the Commander, she knew it. He made the same sound constantly during the War Council when it was her turn to speak.

Her shoulders slumped. She could feel her hands fumbling so that she could pinch herself and try and keep the tears back again, but she could feel her eyes weren’t prickling anymore. The tears had already started.

Anger, frustration, she could bear. But the disappointment…

A large hand fell on her shoulder. For a moment, it was Max’s, and she could feel his kind gaze. But she knew in her heart it was the Iron Bull’s.

He was gently taking away her bow. “This is lighter than yours, right?”

She nodded, still not looking up.

“Makes sense.” He twirled it, then handed it back to Dalish.

“You’ve been training for attacks, not ambushes?”

Anne didn’t know what that meant.

“She’s done the basics. My men were alternating until Blackwall got here a week ago.” The Commander’s voice was all business now.

“Right.” She couldn’t tell if the Qunari meant that kindly or rudely.

The Iron Bull looked around. “Everybody out, except Dalish.”

The Commander stiffened. He hadn’t like the idea of a Qunari group coming into his camp, let alone training her, Anne knew.

“I want Blackwall down here, too,” the Iron Bull conceded, recognizing Rutherford’s reluctance. “We’re gonna do some ambush work.”

Everyone else trooped back up the stairs, but a moment later, Varric appeared - no doubt at Rutherford’s command.

“Who’re you?” the Iron Bull asked, looking confused.

Varric just sighed. “Varric Tethras, and apparently I just go where I’m told.”

The Qunari chuckled at that. “Rutherford really doesn’t like me, does he?”

Varric leant against the wall, pulling Bianca off his shoulders to rest at his side. “Nope. And he doesn’t trust you either, Tiny.”

The Iron Bull looked back at Anne. “You gonna be okay with him watching?”

The comment startled her. Her tears were under control, her face dry. Had anyone asked her anything like that here?

“Yes,” she whispered.

“While we’re waiting, tell me about yourself, Lady Anne.”

The gentleness felt so strange now. _Why now?_

“I grew up in Ansburg,” she said slowly.

“I’ve been there,” the Iron Bull said.

“No shit?” Varric asked.

“No shit. Nice place - all farms and cows and the quiet life.”

The language still shocked her, but it was nice to hear about home. “Yes - I grew up learning to manage our manor and villeins. I hadn’t seen a real city till I came to Ostwick.”

“Good place, too.”

“Good as Kirkwall?” Varric asked pointedly.

The Iron Bull looked over at him. “Hey - I had nothing to do with that. I’m not tal-vashoth, but that wasn’t my job.”

Anne had forgotten about the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall - it made Varric’s wariness more understandable. Though she had no idea what foreign word was.

“So you went to Ostwick?” he prompted.

She nodded. “For my marriage.”

“To the Trevelyans?”

She nodded again. “Max.”

“Yeah. I heard. That explosion really ripped your world apart, huh?”

She looked up at him. It wasn’t exactly sympathy he was offering - it didn’t boil under her skin like sympathy. It was something like understanding.

“So you’ve been training on a bow for about a month now?”

Anne looked ruefully over at where her arrow had fallen.

“What did you mean? About the attack and ambush?” Her face flushed dully. “Is there a difference?”

The Qunari nodded. “An attack means you’ve got your defence planned - a battle. An ambush is when you’re caught with your pants down. Comes when you weren’t expecting, much more personal.”

He was looking thoughtfully at her. “Say we take you out to start working on those rifts and some Templars decide we look like mages, or maybe some mages think we look like we have their next dinner. They could ambush us there on the road.”

Anne felt bile rise in her throat.

“Or maybe they’re disciplined, patient. They could wait while we’re settling into camp, bullshitting each other, getting dinner ready, or just wait us out until we go to sleep.”

Dalish was nodding and added, “Or maybe they decide you look like you’d be some fun, and they wait until you go off to make your water, and try to take you.”

Her hand had unconsciously gone to hold Julienne - _Maker protect us_.

“We’ve got about a week until we move out,” Blackwall said. She didn’t know when he’d come down, but now he was extending her bow to her.

“We’ll get you in fighting form,” the Iron Bull said. “I got some ideas. I’m sure Blackwall’s got some too. Plus I’ll keep one Charger next to you at all times.”

Anne looked up from her bow to them, unsure. “I don’t think I can -”

“I’m not taking you out until I’m sure. I know my men -”

“And women,” Dalish piped up.

“- and women. Let me worry about the strategy. You just worry about you and your little kiddo.”

That was easier. That was all she had been worrying about since the start.


	8. Picking Battles

It turned out the biggest strategy change was working to make Anne see her bow as an extension of herself, meaning it had to be on her at all times. To test her, the Iron Bull said that any time she heard the Chargers’ battlecry, she was meant to immediately nock and draw her bow.

And he meant at any time.

The Chargers had clearly been ordered to dog her and keep her on her toes. Dalish had turned up gleefully the next morning in the latrines, yelling “HORNS UP.” This, after a night when a particularly haggard Krem had burst into her room.

The way the Iron Bull had framed it, Anne didn’t think she had or wanted a choice. And, rationally, she knew it was a solid strategy to prepare her for ambushes. But she certainly wasn’t thrilled, and clearly neither was Krem that night. Or Tess, for that matter.

But at least so far no one had interrupted her prayers.

The Qunari had also given her a “baselard.” As far as Anne could tell, it was a fancy name for a short sword. It curved at the tip, the better to “hook some Templar under their mail”. It was tricky when she tried on a practice dummy - if she wasn’t careful, the hook could get stuck. But she knew she needed to carry something for close encounters.

Whether it was stress or just the natural advancement of her pregnancy, Anne began to experience her first real symptom during this week: indigestion. It was pure luck that a few days later, a midwife arrived. Leliana hadn’t been able to secure one before, but the cunning woman had arrived with what was left of her old village.

Maude Mor certainly looked the part: her face was grizzled and weatherbeaten, her thinning hair tucked behind a kerchief. Anne wondered if she could even stand straight anymore, given how she bent over her cane.

She had made a deal to be Anne’s midwife in exchange for decent accomodation for her and her grandson, Tolbard.

“Well,” she said, sizing Anne up in the doorway to her cottage just beyond the walls of Haven, “you don’t look like Andraste.”

Anne didn’t know what to say, so instead she waited to be invited inside.

Maude wrinkled her nose in annoyance, exposing a rather empty mouth. Anne wondered if she even had any teeth left. “What’re you blocking up the door for? Get in here and let’s have a look at you.”

She moved to stand next to the desk on the opposite end of the cabin, but Maude made a disgusted noise.

“On the bed, girl,” she cried. “You think I can reach you when you’re standing up like that?”

Anne could feel the color rising in her cheeks - this was not going to be easy.

“Tol, go find a soldier to nag,” Maude ordered so that the two women could be alone.

Everything Anne did during the examination seemed to further annoy Maude. Anne started counting her sneers and disgusted noises, but lost track around the eleventh or so. It was hard to pay attention to them, when Maude kept whacking her with the cane to make her do what she wanted. Granted, the blows weren’t hard, but Anne was unaccustomed to it. She tried to think of who she could complain to as Maude palpated her abdomen, but it’s not like anyone could replace her. Unless another hapless refugee midwife wandered in.

“You felt the quickening yet?”

Anne shook her head.

“Well, difficult to say then. Probably between three to four months along. You should feel it soon.”

Maude bustled over to the table and chairs and sat.

Anne kept laying there, still unsure of what to do.

“Well?” Maude prompted, pointing her cane at Anne.

Anne looked at Maude, then down at herself, then back to the old miser. _What does she even want?_ Anne thought desperately.

“They,” Maude said, gesturing back towards the village with her cane, “said you were having trouble. What’s the trouble, girl?”

Anne sat up like a shot, she could feel the problem any time she was lying down and sitting up was the only thing that seemed to help.

“I’ve got this constant ache in my stomach and chest, it burns all the time. Food makes it worse, but I’m always hungry.” Anne gently rubbed her chest as she spoke, it didn’t actually help with the pain, but it felt like at least she was doing something.

“Does it go up and down your throat at night?”

Anne nodded, feeling some relief. Clearly the midwife had heard of it, that meant there would be some help.

“That’s heartburn. Your babe will have a full head of hair.” She sighed and looked around the cabin. “I don’t have any of my old tricks and tools. If you can find some powdered coral, that would be best. Sometimes lemon water helps, and foods with ginger.” She laughed to herself. “Not that we’re living in a herb garden up on this rock.”

She put her cane up on the table, then held up her fingers to tick each one. “No black tea, no ale or beer, no sugar, no onions, no tomatoes.”

Anne winced. Black tea, ale, and onions were main staples of her diet here, and mealy tomatoes when she could get her hands on them. And there were not many other options.

“The blander, the better,” Maude finished, resting her arms across her own expansive belly.

Anne nodded from the bed.

After a moment, Maude pursed her lips. “Oh get out, girl. I’m not anymore use to you until you have more problems and I’ll not have awaiting their arrival in here.”

She hustled out, and once the door was shut, she looked up at the sky and vented a loud, frustrated noise.

“She likes it when people stand up to her.”

Anne jumped. The voice had come from somewhere below. She looked down to see the little blonde grandson. He couldn’t be more than nine, and an orphan, probably.

“You should stand up to her, she’ll like you better for it,” he said, smiling.

Anne frowned, she had absolutely no idea how to do that. Anyway… “Didn’t your grandmother order you to go watch the soldiers?”

Tol shrugged. “I don’t want to.”

That was a surprise. Didn’t all little boys love playing at war? She had certainly watched many games of Templars and Mages back in Ansburg. “Why not?”

“I want to serve the Chantry, like Chancellor Roderick.”

That wasn’t at all what she had expected. Looking him over, she smiled. “I could introduce you, if you like.”

Tol’s eyes lit up. “Please, milady Herald.”

He all but skipped with her back into Haven. _All that energy_ , she thought, and he’s going to _serve the Chantry?_

 _“Well, they can’t all be like me,”_ Max would say, slipping away from Varric’s fire to come and join them. _“Boundless energy and rearing to prove myself.”_

Anne smiled. _What did you ever need to prove?_

Max raised his eyebrows. _“Everything. I wanted to be the best at everything. Even being a husband.”_

Anne mulled that over. _Well, you are certainly the best I’ll ever have._

She could hear him chuckling.

“The Chancellor is usually in the Chantry,” she said, opening the heavy door for Tol.

He was up towards the middle of the hall, talking with Mother Giselle and Rutherford’s second-in-command. If Anne was honest, she had avoided Roderick. She didn’t like the way he looked at her since the target practice argument - as if he had measured her and found her wanting. But he hadn’t been disruptive since, and Anne had hope for it.

Putting her hand on Tol’s shoulder, Anne lifted her chin. “Mother Giselle, Chancellor Roderick,” she called. “This is Tolbard Mor.” Tol shot out from behind her skirts to bow to them, his face shining.

“I want to join the Chantry!”

Mother Giselle’s ancient face cracked into a smile. “Is that so?” She crossed her arms, as though giving him the once-over.

“Yes!”

“Well, we’re always recruiting Templars,” she said kindly.

Tol looked hopefully from Anne to the Chancellor. “I want to become High Chancellor one day, like you.”

The Mother’s eyes lit up in surprise, but she moved back to allow the Chancellor to step forward.

The rotund little man was scarcely taller than Tol himself, but he drew himself up to his fullest height.

“Is that so?” he said, almost warily. “There’s no glory on my path, boy.”

Tol shook his head. “I want to help, like the Chantry men in our village.”

The Invisible Army was always present, but never really spoken of. It suddenly clicked for Anne: Tol’s world had been blown apart probably before he was born, during the last Blight. The Chantry men must have come to help his village and the refugees resettle.

The Chancellor harumphed.

“Well, you can start by getting the Mother and myself some black tea.”

Tol all but skipped off but Anne was surprised at the Chancellor’s reaction. He had always seemed so pompous, she had thought he would appreciate a boy like Tolbard.

“HORNS UP!”

 _Not now_ , she groaned.

But she unslung her bow and immediately drew it at whoever was behind her. It was the dwarf with the Iron Bull and the Commander.

Her face must have given her away though, because the Qunari barked out a laugh. “She’s getting good at that,” he declared proudly.

The Commander continued to look unimpressed.

Anne could feel the Chancellor coming up behind her, as she reshouldered the bow.

“Mother Giselle, Knight-Captain Rylen, and I were just discussing the distribution of resources for your expedition into the Hinterlands.” There was something in his tone Anne didn’t like. “I understand you’ll be taking the mercenary company, the apostate, the dwarven master, and the Grey Warden?”

“Yes,” she answered flatly. They had been over this before.

“Shouldn’t we perhaps send a Templar?” he suggested sweetly. “A lady warrior, to watch over and protect you?”

Anne frowned - she wouldn’t say no to more protection. “If you think -”

“That won’t be necessary,” the Commander cut in.

_Does everything have to be a fight?_

“The Chargers and others have been training together, we shouldn’t add someone new in,” the Iron Bull said. “We have our formations and orders prepared.”

“But then, that leaves you with an uneven company. Who do you propose to share a tent with the Herald?”

She could feel her eyebrows furrowing deeper. “I assumed I would be sleeping alone.”

The dwarf - Grim - grunted with clear annoyance and walked off.

“That’s not possible,” the Commander declared.

“We’ll be having one of our warriors sleep in her tent,” the Iron Bull said. “She’ll need someone with close-range skills to keep her safe.”

“Yes, but aren’t they all men?” Roderick asked carefully.

Something sick hit Anne’s stomach. The thought of sharing a tent with another man was nothing but wrong.

“Excuse us,” she said sharply to Roderick, gesturing the men to follow her up to the War Room.

She waited for the Qunari to shut the door before she rounded on them.

“Just who do you think will be sharing a tent with me?” she asked loudly. It had damn near come out in a yell, but she bit it back.

The two exchanged looks - the Qunari looking resigned, the human looking frustrated.

“Grim, most likely,” the Iron Bull said finally. “The one who you’re training with this afternoon. He’ll be assigned to guard you in the field.”

“He _will not_.”

Rutherford fixed her with an ugly glare. “He will, and you will be the better for it.”

“I cannot share a tent with another man,” she all but shrieked.

Panic was rising in her; her virtue, her reputation, it would all be endangered if she slept with a man.

“We don’t have time to worry about your noble sensibilities. I cannot spare a Templar and you cannot be left alone,” he snapped.

Anne could feel herself sputtering. Out of all the things she had been worrying about, her sleeping arrangements hadn’t even crossed her mind. To have slept with one of the two elves would be degrading enough, but to let another man sleep next to her, after everything that had happened…

“Commander, I need a word with my Lady,” the Iron Bull said softly.

He opened the door with that infuriatingly cocked eyebrow. Rutherford clearly didn’t appreciate being dismissed, but the Qunari leant in and whispered something. Whatever it was, it made him leave.

“Look -”

“I can’t, and I won’t -” she shouted.

“You are giving that pompous little shit exactly what he wants.”

Anne stepped back, it wasn’t anything like the response she was expecting.

“Whatever power struggles you guys are having, I don’t care. But that Chantry fancy man out there is trying to play you and you are letting him.”

The realization hit her slowly. The change in his tone and behavior, the way he had so unctuously addressed the issue.

She rounded on the wall and slapped it with her marked hand as it spewed out some green fire. She was so tired of being pulled this way and that for everybody else.

“Why?” she moaned. It was a loaded question, full of her frustrations and fears and everything else that had been building up.

“Because you’re not playing the game his way anymore, and that makes his position precarious.”

Anne frowned. _What game?_

 _“The same one everyone else has been playing while you’ve been working,”_ Max said softly, slipping an arm around her shoulder.

“I can’t share another man’s bed,” she whispered. She had meant to only say it to Max, but it had slipped out.

The Iron Bull’s mouth worked into a wry smile. “And you won’t. Trust me, you’re the last person Grim wants to bunk with either. But he does what he’s told and he’ll keep you safe. I thought about asking Krem instead, but I need him where I can see him.”

Anne gave him a dark look. How Krem was supposed to be any better was beyond her.

“You need someone who can handle a fight at close quarters, and Dalish and Skinner can’t do that for you.”

He took a step back. “This is about more than just your reputation, isn’t it?”

Anne’s hand lit up, giving her away.

“Max, huh?”

 _What does he know about it?_ she snapped.

Max was casually scratching his nose. _“Does it matter?”_

Anne’s face wrinkled, she was going to cry again.

“Look, this isn’t something you need to worry about. Everybody in Thedas thinks the sun is shining straight out of your round ass. Grim’s not a talker, he won’t be nagging you about anything. And none of us are here to judge.”

He had slowly come to stand to look her in the eye. “I’ve got one job, and that is to keep you and your baby alive.”

 _“I can’t be offended, you know,”_ Max pointed out. _“So long as you do what you need for you both to survive.”_

She felt the air work its way out of her lungs in a heavy sigh.

“Julienne,” she whispered. “Her name is Julienne.”

She winced internally at her bad pronunciation.

The Iron Bull nodded. “I’ll keep you and Julienne alive, but you gotta let me.”

Anne turned away to rest her hands on the war table. Her head fell forward, but this time no tears fell with it. She didn’t want to admit he was right - right about everything - but he was. With one last sigh, her hand glowed brighter, then dimmed.

“Let’s give him a show, then,” she said.

The Iron Bull grinned. They walked out as friendly as could be and Anne made sure she passed Roderick with her chin high.

The next few days were spent training with Grim, the other Chargers, Solas, Varric, and Blackwall in different battle formations. Various practice targets were set up at different distances on her hill for her to hit while they practiced, while the Chargers took turns playing demons, mages, and Templars to help with tactics. Dalish was to be the lead archer, giving orders for where Anne should fire. She also had to get used to the sticky feeling of Solas casting his shields over them. The sensation was unnerving, as though the magic was resting on top of her but also just out of reach.

Knight-Captain Rylen came to explain the weaknesses in Templars armor - telling them to aim for the gaps. They ran drills on several of the volunteer Templars on where to strike and how. She learnt to always cut upwards, it was the best way to guard the rest of her body. She learnt to aim for the neck and armpits, but to try and get in under the belly if she could. If she was down, go for the back of the knee.

When they finally walked out of Haven, Anne felt as prepared as she could. Josephine and Mother Giselle had procured her some little sacks of ginger tea, Leliana gave them two crows to keep her informed, and the Commander gave her a look that seemed a little less than his usual sneer.

Her boots were too big, but she had stuffed a pair of socks in to help. Her mail was heavy, but she was learning to bear the weight - her newfound freedom of movement in the tunic and hose were making it easier. And the ugly, old jupon was as bloody as ever, but it would keep Julienne safe.

As she passed through the gates, one hand went to pat her belly, the other went to hold Max’s.

_We got this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting - went and saw Infinity War!


	9. Horns Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta-ed by the fantastic [dragonifyoudare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare/works)!

Anne had not calculated just how damn tiring it would be to walk everywhere. She had learnt to ride at a young age, and while she had always walked around her manor, she was used to travelling longer distances on horseback.

At first she had joined in on the banter, trying to keep up with the Chargers and Varric, but they were too fast for her and she was exhausted by midday.

More than that, her back was aching. She wasn’t doing the pregnant waddle yet, but carrying Julienne around was tiresome. Her boots did not help. Despite having stuffed them as best she could, they were broken in to someone else’s feet, and her feet were suffering for it.

As they were coming down the mountain, Anne was struggling to find somewhere level to make water. The others had been quietly going off into the brush, clearly able to handle the uneven terrain, but Anne couldn’t figure out how the women were doing it. When she finally plucked up the courage to ask Dalish, the elf laughed at her as she went into the underbrush. She returned after a moment, offering a long, thick stick to Anne.

Anne took it, completely confused. “What is this?”

“Prayer stick.” The rest of the company had turned to watch them. Dalish was barely containing her glee as Anne continued to stare blankly. “You drive it into the ground, grab on, squat back, and pray it holds while you piss.”

She doubled over at Anne’s look of horror. With a hot face and ears, Anne stalked off into the trees, the sounds of laughter carried on the wind. But the prayer stick was effective, if somewhat terrifying.

 

When they did settle in to make the fire and set up the tents, Anne sat down heavily, groaning. The others worked around her while she undid her laces. Sure enough, her heels were covered in blisters.

The healer of the group, a man named Stitches, had passed her a poultice before sitting with the others around the fire. Anne couldn’t miss that they had deliberately made their fire away from where she had sat, but she was too tired to move.

Blackwall had simply passed her her dinner with a questioning look, but left her be. When she was done eating her trencher, she climbed into her bedroll with a quick prayer to Andraste for Julienne.

The first night with Grim had been as quiet as the Iron Bull had promised. She had fallen asleep long before he came to bed and was gone before she woke up.

By the end of the second day, the blisters had joined forces to form one large blister on each heel. Stitches’s poultice helped, but only so much. To make matters worse, her face had definitely become sunburnt.

Again she plopped down as soon as they made camp, and this time she fell asleep before dinner. When she woke, it was just Varric and the Iron Bull around the campfire.

She groaned, getting to her feet and walking over to join them. The nights of sleeping on her aching back were now compounded by the crick in her neck for falling asleep sitting up. A trencher and some broth in a tin cup was sitting next to Varric. He nudged it toward her and she made short work of it.

She couldn’t even hear their conversation. She fell asleep as soon as she finished her bread. Next thing she knew, she was in her tent again and it was morning.

It was then she decided to do her prayers in the morning, since she clearly wasn’t going to have energy at night. Since they weren’t going to stop for her, she started repeating Exaltations on the march:

“Let me be the vessel.” Right foot.

“Which bears the Light of your promise.” Left foot.

“To the world expectant.” Right foot.

It helped her keep apace with the others, and gave her something else to think about.

It wasn’t until the third day that they encountered their first rift. Anne had stood back, letting the Chargers do their work, as they practiced. Grim seemed almost antsy, compared to his usual self. She could tell he wanted to join in, but no demons made it close enough. She scored several hits, but again, her body hummed with a new rhythm as they battled on - the magnetism with the rift slowly overtaking her.

When it came time to shut it, she could the mark cast off a hook into the rift to connect them. This was the farthest distance from which she had tried closing a rift. She felt compelled toward the rift, as if connection were trying to yank her. She refused, closing her hand as if over the rope of light.

She whispered her Exultations with each slow step, sweat beading on her brow as the Chargers cleared a path for her.

As she reached the bottom of it, she felt the Fade physically _jerk_ her arm up. Her eyes widened in surprise at Its demanding and slammed her hand shut automatically. The Rift shattered shut.

Wiping the sweat off on her sleeve, Anne turned to the Chargers’ awed faces.

She realized that while they must have seen rifts on their way to Haven, they had never seen her mark in action. All of them were gaping at her marked hand, which was quiet now its job was done.

Anne fought the urge to clasp her hands behind her and cleared her throat.

She had hoped that would be a signal to the Iron Bull, but as she turned to look at him, she thought he must have missed it. When their eyes met he rearranged his face and snapped an order to move out, but the look of shock and almost fear he had worn the second before unsettled Ann.

That night there was celebration for their job well done. The lookouts laughed and joked while the rest of the Chargers broke out some ale. Anne had no idea where they could’ve kept it. Again, she past out directly after dinner. How they had any energy for carousing she had no idea.

On the fifth day they entered the Hinterlands. The nearest Inquisition camp was still another day’s journey.

Around midday they came to a beautiful glade. Here the road was mostly overgrown, with knee-high grass. They walked in the wheel tracks that had been worn into the ground from years of travellers. It was hot under her jupon, but the sun felt wonderful on her face. She could hear her mother scolding her for not protecting herself from it, but her burn was peeling away and Varric said she was going to have a ‘lovely tan’ by the time this was over. She could imagine the words Lady Trevelyan would have for him (“ _There’s no such thing as a_ lovely _tan_ ”), and it made her chuckle to herself.

She almost didn’t notice the Iron Bull reaching up to scratch his right horn.

It was the Chargers signal for a possible ambush. She felt her arms stiffen at her sides; she knew not to break formation or grab weapons - not yet.

Up ahead, Varric continued ribbing Solas for something or another, but she could feel the party had changed. Everyone was on high alert.

The Qunari then moved as though to crack his neck: the signal for Templars.

Something in her stomach dropped. She had been preparing for the last week to face them, but actually facing off against them felt different. Apostates were a danger to everyone, but to fight off peacekeepers had seemed impossible.

Solas was brushing off Varric as he fell back and Varric moved forward - he was to join the warriors at the front of the group as the first line of the defense. Skinner was already in second line formation when Solas reached her, while Dalish held back to form the third line with her and Grim.

She knew the next signal would be the battlecry. Midway through the glade, the call rang out.

“HORNS UP!”

Anne grabbed her bow from her shoulders, taking her battle stance. Every hair on her body was standing on end. She would swear later that she could smell every single blade of grass in the meadow. Her eyes were quicker than ever, marking every leaf as a possible obstruction and moving onto the next before she could process it.

Templars were pouring from the trees up ahead. Before she could wonder if they could talk this out, an arrow came straight at Solas. She felt his sticky shields come up around all them just in time for him to deflect it.

The foot soldiers were rushing forward; there were maybe fifteen in total. But her vision went past them to see the archers in the trees beyond, at least four of them.

Anne felt Dalish move into action beside her, yelling for her to take aim at the archer taking on Varric. Anne nocked her bow. That arrow whizzed passed the Templar’s head, but her second one found his shoulder just as he pointed his bow at her.

The Chargers went to work, the Iron Bull roaring to life with his massive greataxe. She could hear him taunting and laughing as he cut down the first Templar.

Blackwall bellowed next, and suddenly the glade was full of yells and swords and blood.

The sounds pounded through her, sweeping her up in their exalting cries. All she could feel or see or do was fight - it was burning through her, in her pulse. They were all a storm, the shouts the thunder, her arrows the lightning.

Her ears were roaring as she moved on to a next archer. Dalish was shouting, but she was already firing. Too late she realized they had both aimed for the same Templar.

Dalish grabbed her to shout in her ear, “BEHIND THE BUSH!”

Between her and Dalish, three of the Templar archers were down before the foot soldiers had made it past their second line of defense. With the battle flowing through her, Anne could understand why the Iron Bull laughed.

This was glory, this was _life_.

Dalish moved up to the second line as the last archer fell, using her knives now instead of her bow.

A scream rang out, too close, someone had broken through. Grim was already in action before she found the man on the field. They were locked together, the dwarf giving as good as he got.

Anne’s hand went to her quiver. There were two arrows left.

There was a Templar barreling down the field. Anne’s arrow flew true, landing in her thigh, but the woman kept moving. Stitches came at her with a side strike, but she rolled her body away it, losing her helmet in the process. She managed a jab at Stitches in his sword arm. His weapon dropped, but the Templar wasn’t stopping.

She was coming for the third line, and Grim was still fighting his Templar.

She was coming for Anne.

Anne grabbed for her last arrow, but she wouldn’t be able to fire it in time. “Let me be the vessel -”

Throwing her bow down, she took the arrow in her left arm and her baselard in her right. “Which bears the Light of your promise -”

The woman was bearing down on her and before she could think, Anne ducked down and came around. “To the world expectant,” she screamed.

Her baselard sank into the gap between of armor under the woman’s raised arm, but the arrow drove into her neck.

The woman dropped.

Anne didn’t know what she expected death to sound like. On the mountain she had only seen demons die. For a moment, she was back there, looking over the bodies of people long dead. She had seen wounded, but no one dying.

Her hand was still on the arrow, blood gushing over it. The smell of it was swamping her. The woman had tried to twist to cut at Anne, but her sword arm was going limp. Her weapon dropped before she could get to her.

Something burbled in the Templar’s throat, Anne could feel it rattling through the arrow into her hand. Anne felt herself drop next to her kill. Blood spattered over her face. The Templar had spit on her.

Her breathing was becoming ragged and harsh.

“Bitch,” she whispered.

She drew one last gurgling breath, then her eyes glazed and her head dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought you by bloodlust, the Dunkirk soundtrack, and Girl Scouts.


	10. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my beautiful beta,[ dragonifyoudare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).
> 
> Also, it's chapter 10 and we just entered the Hinterlands, so I was definitely wrong about this being a 30-chapter fic. Chapter total has been updated.

One second, everything was moving fast. The next, it was as though she was slogging through water. Then everything was whipping past her.

Anne was vomiting.

Everything inside her was bursting out, spilling over the blood on the ground, as if she was trying to cover it up. She was heaving from her very core, from Julienne.

 _Andraste forgive me, Andraste forgive me, Maker forgive me_.

Something violent tore through her throat.

This wasn’t the wave of bile, it was a cry she’d never made before. Her keen carried over the whole glade; over the grass she could smell every blade of, over every leaf she had marked with blood, over all the new dead.

Someone was grabbing at her, but she couldn’t let go. Her hand was still on the arrow, holding the dead woman upright. Gentle fingers were trying to pry her white-knuckled grip off it, but she couldn’t let go.

She wanted to, she desperately wanted to, but she couldn’t.

The storm was gone, and she was hollowed out.

 _Maker, Maker, Andraste, Maker, Max,_  please _._

She didn’t even know what she was pleading for.

“Anne,” the voice was distant, even though she knew the Iron Bull was right behind her.

“It’s time to let go.”

Her vision was shaking with her head. _No no no -_

A large hand curled under her chin and lifted it up. “It’s time to let go of her. Julienne is safe.”

The name struck something in her, made her body slowly release. She could feel herself crumbling as the Iron Bull’s other hand came to hold her under her arm.

Varric stood next to him with a waterskin. “Close your eyes, Lady.”

Anne did as she was told.

The water washed over her face, followed by a rough cloth.

“We should stop for the day, let her rest,” she heard Blackwall say. It sounded so far away…

“We can’t do that,” the Iron Bull was saying. She could feel him moving around her as he held her up.

“Look at her -”

“I know she’s battlesick. But we just got ambushed - we can’t stay here. The safest place is an Inquisition camp.”

She was being passed off to Blackwall. Her head was down, but she could see his beard. _It looks like Papa’s_ , she thought, almost reaching out to touch it.

Blackwall half-walked, half-carried her for the rest of the day. Anne barely registered when they reached the camp, only really noticing that she didn’t have to keep putting her feet in front of each other. They left her in large tent, and she fell asleep before she could know anything else.

* * *

 

_Blood was spurting from the Templar’s neck, from her mouth, from her nose, from her eyes -_

_“Bitch!”_

Anne sat straight up, her mouth wide. There was noise everywhere, _it needed to stop_ , _it’d give away their position._

A hand slammed over her mouth. “Do you want to wake up the whole camp, lass?”

She was looking into Blackwall’s beetle-black eyes. She shut her mouth and he took away his hand.

“You’re safe, my Lady,” he whispered. “You’re safe. The battle’s over, we’re at the Lake Luthias camp.”

The Iron Bull ducked under the tent flap and traded a glance with Blackwall.

“How are you feeling?” The Iron Bull’s face frank and concerned.

Anne was starting to shiver. She did not want to do this now.

“I need to pray.” It was a clear dismissal.

The Iron Bull shook his head and sat down on the cot, which creaked dangerously. “No, that’s not what you need.”

Anne glared at him. If he wouldn’t leave then she would. She stood faster than she meant to, trying to ignore that something was skittering through her, just under her skin. “I _need_ to pray.”

Blackwall got up to go with her, but the Iron Bull grabbed her by her marked hand.

“That is not what you need,” he repeated.

Anne tried to wrest her wrist free, but he was holding tight. Blackwall looked alarmed. Anne could see he was moving into a battle stance. Her jitters felt like they were crawling out from under her skin now and her hand spat green fire, but still the Iron Bull didn’t let go.

She tried to jerk her hand free again and again. “What do you know?” Anne snarled.

“I know that you don’t need to pray,” he said simply. There was something like a smile playing on his face.

“Don’t you _dare_ \- you don’t _know_ -”

There was the sound of steel unsheathing. “Let the lady go,” Blackwall said, sword bare at his side. He held it downwards, deliberately away from the Qunari, but the threat was there.

The Iron Bull immediately dropped her wrist, and Anne fled the tent.

Behind her she could hear running water, and she scrambled up a hill to it. She fell to her knees. _Max, please - Andraste, forgive me, please -_

But he wasn’t answering. She couldn’t hear him. She reached out for him, but nothing came to her. She pawed the ground next to her for Max’s hand, but she couldn’t feel it. “Max?” she whispered.

No one answered.

“Max?” she called again. Then -

“ _MAX!_ ”

A heavy hand rested on her shoulder. She whipped around in the mud to see the Iron Bull again, Blackwall with him.

“He’s not here,” she said, her voice shaking as hard as her body.

“No, he’s not,” the Iron Bull said gently.

“But he’s always here.”

“I know.” He wrapped his hand around hers.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s okay.”

He gently came down on one knee to put his arm under hers and helped her up. Slowly he walked her back around the lake to a little path that led down to their camp. Blackwall walked ahead and opened her tent flap for them and Bull set her lightly back on her cot.

“Arms up,” he ordered.

Anne felt her arms obey. He loosened the laces at the bottom of the jupon, then pulled it over her head. She didn’t even know she had been crying until she felt the cloth scrape her wet cheeks. Next came the mail, which he set aside with the jupon. He took a blanket and gave it to Anne to hold over her hips as he slid her hose off. She stared dumbly at him the whole time he guided her through it.

Now she was just down to her long undershirt. Her hands went to grip it, signalling she didn’t want him to go any further, but Bull had no intention to do so. Instead he gently tipped her back and cradled her head down to her pillow.

“Blackwall and I are gonna sleep here tonight.” He knelt down and tucked her blanket in around her. “You just get some rest.”

Anne nodded and let her eyes close. Two last tears fell, but she knew no more.

* * *

 

When Anne opened her eyes, the sun had clearly been long up. Her sleep hadn’t exactly been restful. It had just been blank. No dreams, no thoughts, just emptiness. It was almost as if she hadn’t slept at all, but instead just jumped through time.

Bull was still there, now sitting across from her.

“I’d say good morning, but it’s afternoon,” he said with a smile.

Anne let her head roll to the side to look at him. Everything felt plain and very cold.

“I talk to Max.”

He nodded.

“But Max wasn’t there last night.”

Bull nodded again.

“He’s always there.”

Her head turned to look back up to the roof of the tent.

“He’s gone.”

“ _Asit tal-eb_ ,” he said gently. “It was to be.”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

With a shuddering breath, her voice somehow became even flatter. “I enjoyed the fight yesterday. I wanted to kill that woman. I like fighting.”

“I do, too. Everyone here does, though Solas and Blackwall would never admit it. They would say something about honor or duty,” Bull waved a hand as though the words meant nothing, “but they like the fight.”

That made sense. Why else would anyone be here? Why join a mercenary crew or the Grey Wardens or the Inquisition?

“It’s a skill,” Bull said, “same as farming or anything else. You have to have a taste for it in order to do it well.”

Something finally caught in her throat. “I wish Max were here.” _It should be Max telling me this, not you._

“I know. But I can’t help that. Grief isn’t a straight path,” Bull said. “It’s gonna come and go, and you just gotta let it take you when it does.”

Everything felt so helplessly factual right now, even her rage. Max should be here. Max is not. Bull is here. Bull is helping. Now, as she sifted through her feelings from the day before, it just felt still. Static. As though it were carved in cold stone:

_I killed someone. I collapsed. I panicked. I couldn’t find Max._

Now she reached out and still Max was gone. Maybe it was forever. Maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t seem to matter.

Anne exhaled slowly.  

“You didn’t want me to pray last night. Why?”

Bull shook his head. “You needed to confront what happened. You weren’t ready to be alone.”

“I confronted it. Now what?”

He scrubbed his face, then stood. “Now we cook dinner and spend the night here.”

She curled onto her side.

“Uh-uh.” He yanked the blanket off her. “Nope, this time, you’re not getting out of it. You’re not hiding out in here alone, you’re gonna eat with us.” He bent over, picked up her neatly folded clothes, and dumped them on her. “Come on. Time to get dressed.”

She glared up at him. How this Qunari became such a mother hen, she had no idea. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’re pregnant, you’re always hungry. You,” he took her by the shoulders and lifted her up, “are just being stubborn.”

She stared at him stonily for a moment, calculating. She could try to prove him wrong by staying in the tent and not eating all night, but Void take him, he was right. She was hungry.

With an exasperated sigh, she grabbed her hose and started tugging them on.

Bull gave her a wide smile. Somehow it made her both want to smack it off his face and reflect it back to him. She went for a wry half-smile instead.

“Good girl,” he said, moving to leave the tent.

“Bull?” she asked, as he was about to leave.

He stopped and half-turned to face her.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

He flashed her another smile. “‘Cause you’re the Boss.”


	11. The Hinterlands I

The next day they finally arrived at the horsemasters’ farm, thankfully without any further violence. Anne couldn’t have been more grateful, not only for the peace, but also for their destination. It felt so comforting to be back on a farm, to feel like she understood the world around her.

What she should have known was that the farmer was going to drive a bargain. Her Papa used to take her around for the tax collection, to learn how to handle the complaint and the deviating. Horsemaster Dennet didn’t seem to care about the righteousness of their cause, and she should’ve known it. The smallfolk had always only cared about where their next meal came from, it was nobles’ job to worry about the larger problems. As Dennet left to gather his family, Anne squared her shoulders. She could sense a bargain was about to be struck.

Dennet returned with his wife, daughter, and a farmhand, and the battle began. They wanted the rifts nearby handled - _of course we will be closing those_ ; there was a pack of wolves that was attacking farmers - _I don’t see how that is Inquisition business_ ; one of our druffalo has gone missing - _I_ really _don’t see how that is Inquisition business_ ; six watchtowers would ensure the safety of the area - _I will requisition our army for one_.

In the end a deal was struck for them to handle the rifts and Anne drove a bargain for three watchtowers (which seemed to be the original goal anyway). Elaina, Dennet’s wife, also insisted on them finding the missing druffalo, and, in the end, Anne gave in because how hard could it be anyway.

At dinner that night they enjoyed their first chance to relax from a long time on the road. Again, the Chargers managed to produce some ale and some nasty-smelling liquor that nauseated Anne.

She had the impression Varric and Bull were colluding against her, as they had deliberately steered her to sit in the middle of the Chargers.

Krem looked about as thrilled as she felt. “You know, for a holy woman, you don’t smell like the Herald of Andraste.”

Anne looked askance at him. None of them were peaches and roses, but she had stopped noticing after the third day.

“Tomorrow is laundry day,” he announced, and the Chargers all roared in agreement. Several stood up to cheers him.

Anne looked down at her jupon. Tonight she wore it for warmth, but Krem was right, she realized as she ducked a sneaky sniff at her armpit. It was in dire need of a wash.

“I’ll leave it out for you tomorrow.”

From across the fire, Skinner barked out a laugh.

“If that’s what you think is happening, you’ve got another thing coming, _my lady_ ,” she said mockingly. “Everyone does their own laundry in the Chargers.”

Anne shot a look at Bull and Varric, who were looking very smug.

“I - I don’t know how,” she said uncertainly, looking at them to save her.

An elbow jabbed her in the ribs. “Don’t worry, we’ll teach you, princess,” Krem said, knocking back his small beer.

There was some snickering over the nickname, and Anne could only impotently shoot back, “I’m not a princess.” She spent the rest of her night picking at the meat and bread, trying to imagine what her mother would say if she saw Anne doing her own laundry.

The next morning she had thought they would bring water up to the tents in buckets, but instead the crew headed down to a ravine downriver from their camp. One of the rifts the farmer had mentioned was blazing over the water. Anne stood at the top of the hill with Grim, picking off demons where she could, but these ones were far more difficult to kill. The screams that rent the air as they fought and died set her teeth on edge.

The whole time her hand vibrated and nettled, and this time she could feel it as another will took over. Her hand snapped shut and the world folded over the rift.

As Solas came back up the ravine, she looked at him questioningly. Neither of them had really spoken since he had promised her baby was safe.

“It feels different,” she said plaintively as he passed her.

He cocked his head, waiting for her to explain, but she didn’t know how.

“It’s...it just feels different.” She screwed up her face and palmed her face with her normal hand. “It’s not _growing_ , but it’s changing?”

He held his hand out for hers and she let him ghost his magic over her.

“You okay there, Boss?” Bull asked, coming up behind the mage with Varric.

She nodded, but just then Solas sent a shock into her wrist and she yelped and ripped her hand away.

It was like spiders were crawling through her hand, and she shook her arm out, trying to change the sensation.

“The mark is still the same as before,” he said as though it were nothing.

She watched him with a puzzled look as he shouldered past her. Apparently he wasn’t joining them for laundry. She wondered how he was managing to keep so clean. _Magic, I suppose_ , she thought as she shook out her wrist one last time and followed the Chargers down to the stream. Everyone was stripping off in the summer heat and starting to wash. Anne stared blankly, she had no idea how to do this.

Something soft hit her square in the back and she turned to see Dalish looking at her expectantly. Anne looked down to see a large dress balled up on the ground.

“Put it on, if you’re not comfortable,” Dalish said, exasperated.

She must have looked panicked, because Dalish then grabbed her by the arm and threw her behind a tree.

“Krem’s right. You sure as shit don’t smell holy.”

The dress must have been a Chantry sister’s, from the look of it. Anne winced at the sacrilege of it, but she was too far past caring who it used to belong to. Better to wear the habit than be naked in front of everyone.

“We don’t have all day, princess,” Dalish said, turning around to give Anne her privacy.

“I’m not a princess,” Anne grumbled, sliding the jupon off. She looked down at her smalls and realized they had to smell worse than anything else on her. The dress was large enough for her to do some creative positioning and pull the smalls off from under her dress. When she was ready, she turned back and followed them down to the water, holding her bundle of clothes over her swinging chest.

Everyone was trading blocks of lye soap, and some were splashing in the water. Anne squatted down next to Dalish, trying desperately not to look at anyone. She had mistakenly seen Varric and she was not prepared for all that chest hair.

A splash of water hit her full in the face and she looked up and yelped.

There stood a proud Rocky, naked as the day he was born. He wiggled his very bare hips suggestively, everything dangling wildly, and Anne threw herself sideways and back to look at the grassy hill instead.

“Told you!” Krem yelled cheerfully. “Pay up!”

Varric was laughing, passing a few coins over to him.

Anne shot them a glare, then quickly turned back to avoid their nakedness. Rocky had gone back downstream and she went back to work, trying to imitate how Dalish was working the soap through her clothes.

But then something struck her and she looked back up over at Krem. Up until that point she had just assumed he was a man, but now she could see his body.

A hand came down on her shoulder as she was surreptitiously watching him.

“He is what he is,” Bull whispered.

She turned back to look at him, grateful to see he was holding his wet trousers over his waist. She opened her mouth to ask a question but he shook his head.

“Accept him as he is,” he said quietly, and then turned away from her, giving her a full view of his sizable bare backside.

Her surprise kept her quiet, but as she washed her clothes, she decided there was no reason to argue. Krem had breasts, but that didn’t change anything else about him. It certainly didn’t change the fact that she was annoyed at him for betting on her reaction to Rocky’s display.

“Can’t the men do this somewhere else?” she whispered to Dalish.

The elf didn’t even look up at her, instead choosing to just sigh and mutter something to Skinner next to her. Anne could tell they were sharing a _look_ about her and it wasn’t nice.

“Do you see anywhere else for them to go?” Dalish fired back at a normal volume.

“This is what life is like on the road,” Skinner said. “Shit or get off the pot, princess.”

Again, grumbling she wasn’t a princess, she went back to work on her clothes. Some of the Chargers were starting to beat their shirts on the rocks on the edge of the ravine and Anne realized the dirty water came out faster that way.

She heaved the jupon out of the water - with the quilting and moisture it was thrice as heavy - and tried to do the same. The first time she missed dramatically and almost hit Dalish in the face.

Skinner came over and grabbed it out of her hands. The tiny elf worked her wiry hands over material, deftly wringing the excess water. When she had finished, she handed back to Anne to beat on the rock.

Anne spent the rest of the day in awe of the Chargers’ strength. She had always assumed you had to be built like Blackwall or the Iron Bull to be strong, and most of the Chargers were less powerfully built than their boss. Skinner and Dalish were so slight and slim, but their hands were stronger than any muscle in Anne’s body. She could barely wring a drop of moisture out of the puffy jupon, and trying was exhausting.

Anne was the last one to finish, and by the end, her back felt like it would break. She struggled back up the steep hill to camp with Grim and Varric, who had been chatting while she worked.

Varric proffered his arm as they levelled out and she took it happily until he steered her to sit right down between Krem and Rocky. She tried to twist away, she was still angry about the prank, but he held her tight and she didn’t have any strength left.

They were eating a late lunch and didn’t seem much happier than she was to have her between them.

She looked across the fire to Bull, who was watching her with his eyebrows raised. She could tell this was another damn test, and she had no idea how to pass it. Her face must have given it away, because he made a gesture for her to talk and then sat back with his arms crossed.

Part of her wanted to tell the pair of them off for their prank, but she also knew she would have to be on the road with them for the foreseeable future. Any snappy retort would get her nowhere, or worse, would make them want to prank her more. She wasn’t sure how many more naked men she could handle.

She cleared her throat carefully and took a waterskin from Rocky when he past it off to her.

“So how much did you win?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Krem raised his eyebrows at her. “Three coppers.”

“Hope you shared it with the dwarf himself,” she said, nodding her head to Rocky.

Rocky laughed and reached to clap Krem on the back. “‘Course he did! It’s a joint effort, princess.”

She bit back at the “I’m not a princess” grumble at the last moment. “Well, you did do all the work.” She took a large swig and past the waterskin to a surprised looking Krem.

She looked back to Bull who gave her the smallest of nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, should be back on track for weekly updates again.
> 
> It's a mini-chapter, but it's because the Hinterlands is basically gonna take up three little chapters rather than one large one.


	12. The Hinterlands II

The next day several Chargers were sent out scouting the area for rifts and the Iron Bull, Solas, and Anne went to look where the farmhand wanted his watchtowers. Bull agreed with his locations, even Solas didn’t have any strategic suggestions.

They all met back up at lunch, where they ate and Anne sent the requisition to Commander Rutherford.

They headed back down the ravine, since Dalish said she had seen tracks on the other side of the creek bank. They trooped after her, following her into a series of canyons. After an hour of wandering and nearly retracing their steps three times, Anne leant against the wall and sighed heavily.

Her feet were aching and felt heavy, and the oversized boots were still doing her no favors.

“How old would you say the tracks are?” Bull asked, passing around a waterskin.

Dalish shrugged. “No more than a day.”

Annoyance bubbled up in Anne. The day was dragging on, and the humidity had been rising all day. _All this for a stupid druffalo_ , she thought, kicking a stone.

Anne wiped her forehead on her sleeve, then stood to walk up to the widest part of the canyon. She knew this was going to look strange, so she kept her back to the group. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she began to sing.

It was a wordless song, almost tuneless. Just sounds and tones carrying through the bare walls of the canyon. She had never tried in a space like this, she had learnt the songs in the fields of her Papa’s large demesnes. Here the stones seemed to sing it back to her, even as they carried her voice away.

After a minute, she stopped to listen. For a few seconds she could hear her own reverberation, then some silence, until maybe -

“What was that?” Rocky piped up.

Anne threw her hand up behind her to tell him to be silent.

And there it was again - a faint lowing.

She turned around, gleefully clapping her hands together, before she stopped at their faces.

“What?” she asked, clasping her hands behind her.

Several voices erupted at once: _“you never told us you could sing -”_ , “ _that sounded amazing -_ ”, and “w _hat was that?!”_

Her face was going red. “I didn’t know singing mattered to you.” She started to walk back towards them, head down. “That was a call we do in Ansburg - the cows and goats usually respond, I thought a druffalo might too.”

Krem stood hand on his hip, looking incredulously at Bull. “The princess worked on farms?”

Of course she had - it was the only education she was given. Papa reasoned that you can’t know if someone’s working the land well unless you know the work. There were Summerday and All Soul’s, feast days when the gentry and the farmers worked together, but Anne and Papa had always spent the summers helping out on the farms.

He shrugged. “I told you she’d surprise you.”

Anne beamed as they started walking in the direction of the lowing. After a moment, Rocky turned to squint back at her, then he opened his mouth -

“ _Near a cavern, in the canyon, in the shadow of the hill_ _  
_ _It was there I kept a cathouse with my oldest brother Bill._ ”

Some of the other Chargers joined in the chorus:

“ _Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, oh, my darling, Clementine,_ _  
_ _You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine._ ”

Anne quirked her eyebrow as several of them turned around to watch her. She knew the song, of course - it was one the farmers sang in the fields as they worked. Papa had always shrugged and whispered " _don't tell your mother_ " when he joined in.

“ _Though at first we didn't prosper, soon we started doing fine,_ _  
_ _When a girl came down from Ostwick by the name of Clementine._ ”

They were singing the chorus again (“ _oh, my darling Clem -_ ”), when she realized now almost all of them were watching for what she would do about this verse ( _“- sorry, Clementine”_ ).

“ _She was brazen, she was scrawny, she had no gift of gab -_ ”

Anne stopped in her tracks so she could bodily scream: “ _But she had the kind of quim, boys, that would reach right out and grab!”_

A roar went up, and now even Grim was heartily belting the bawdy ballad. The only person not singing was Solas, who instead looked mildly annoyed. With all the laughing and singing, it really should have come as no surprise when the wolves attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the song call Anne does here on [kulning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KvtT3UyhibQ).
> 
> Also, if there's one thing this fic has taught me, it's that all the old songs we know were once dirty.
> 
> Thank you again to my beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).


	13. The Hinterlands III

At least the Chargers knew what to do, because Anne realized she had no idea. Grim and Dalish were suddenly at her side, Dalish shooting spells as Grim guarded Anne’s blindspot.

“ _HORNS UP!”_ Krem cried from the front, as four wolves spilled over the canyon walls.

Anne felt her arms reach automatically to nock her bow. But the wolves and battle were moving so fast, she couldn’t aim fast enough. She kept noticing her chances a second too late. A wolf was bearing down on Solas and Varric and there was an opening, but then suddenly Bull rushed in and blocked her. Another wolf was coming for Rocky and Anne was about to fire, but Krem was suddenly there, cutting it down. Skinner was already into one when Blackwall moved to help her. Every time she found a shot, somebody would block it.

A howl went up behind her, and Anne felt her blood go cold.

Grim had started in on the wolf behind them as Anne turned around, while Dalish began firing angry lightning from what she kept insisting was “only a bow”.

Something bubbled up deep inside Anne, and the battle seemed to slow down. From all the time she had spent watching him fight, she knew what Grim's next moves were. He thrust, and just as he started pulling his sword out she saw her opening and -

Her first arrow lodged in the wolf’s flank, then her second into the muscles around the wolf’s neck. It yelped and started trying to run away, but Grim gripped it by Anne’s arrow and pulled his sword across its throat.

There was a last burble, then it fell.

Anne whirled around, next arrow nocked, but clearly the last three wolves were done for. Bull appeared to have put his greataxe through at least two of the skulls, while Varric had lodged a crossbow bolt in the last one’s eye.

There was some breathless panting, as everyone assessed themselves. Bull had a nasty bite on his arm, but everyone else had managed to escape unharmed.

Anne quickly put her arrow back in her side-quiver and shouldered her bow to kneel down. She knew it was against Bull’s protocol to stop before he declared the skirmish over, but she had to be sure.

And there it was again.

She looked up at them, eyes wide.

But nobody except Grim had noticed. He grunted at her, pushing at her to see if she was all right.

“She’s moving,” she whispered to him.

He looked at her stonily for a moment, then realization hit and he cracked a big smile. “Hey - it’s _kicking!_ _”_ he yelled to the group.

Bull watched as everyone came to crowd Anne, they all were trying to rest a hand on her belly. She didn’t even try to stop them, she was too happy.

“I don’t feel anything,” Varric said plaintively.

Anne grinned at him. “I think it’s too soon for everyone else,” she said, marvelling at her stomach. The fluttering was just for her, just for her and Julienne.

“She’ll be a fighter,” Bull said proudly. “Quickening mid-battle is pretty badass.”

Anne smiled up at him.

Once again, only Solas seemed unaffected. “Why do you think they attacked us?” he wondered out loud.

Bull shrugged. “We probably wandered into their territory.”

“Yes, but why not attack the druffalo instead. It’s clearly close.”

Skinner set to work dressing the wolves. “Does it matter?” she asked as she sliced through one of Bull’s kills.

Solas turned to Dalish. “Did you feel something different about them?”

Dalish shrugged. “Seemed like normal wolves to me.”

“I felt something magic, something about the Fade in them,” Solas insisted.

“Or maybe a spirit? Krem asked, unsheathing his sword.

Everyone turned to look to see a wraith coming toward them.

Anne moved to nock her bow, but Grim stopped her. He jumped up and with a flurry of swords and a few crossbow bolts, the spirit was gone.

“Do you think she knew?” Varric wondered out loud as they started to move on. “The farmer’s wife, I mean.”

Anne cocked her head, looking at him. Elaina had to at least known that the druffalo and the wolves would be near one another, if they were in the canyons. Anne pursed her lips - of course she knew, that’s why she drove the bargain the way she did. Anger rushed through her as she rested a hand over her belly.

With an angry huff, she said “Oh, she knew.” 

They spent the rest of the day following the lowing of the druffalo and cleared two rifts in the process. Grim seemed to be taking his guardianship much more seriously. He deliberately held Anne farther back from the rifts than usual, only letting her move to close them once all the demons were killed.

Julienne seemed to have calmed down too, or, at least, the fluttering had stopped.

It was nearly dusk when they arrived back at camp, druffalo in tow.

The Chargers stayed back at camp to start cooking while Krem, Bull, Varric, and Anne headed over to Dennet’s house. When Anne saw Elaina, there was no doubt the woman had set them up to kill the pack. Her eyes were wide and innocent, but she wore a tart smile. Anne had to hand it to her - Elaina  had played her hand well when they struck their bargain.

“The wolves are taken care of,” Anne said icily.

Elaina made an unconvincing surprised noise. “Maker, that’s wonderful!”

“Is there anything we can do for you?” Dennet asked, wearing a happy grin as he put his arm around his wife.

For a moment Anne considered calling her out and dressing her down for letting them walk into an ambush, but looking around the farm, she reconsidered. The wolves would have been too much for Elaina’s people, and if they had sent an Inquisition scouting team, the pack might have overpowered them. All in all, it was best that the Chargers had taken care of it. If nothing, it earned the farm’s respect.

Anne looked back toward the Inquisition camp and the Chargers, then turned to the farmers and gave a short nod. “A cask of wine could do us all some good.”

Varric gave a bark of laughter, and Krem made a startled noise.

“Of course,” Elaine said, going to their kitchen. “Anything for getting rid of those wolves.” She came back with a rather large cask of wine. As she handed it to Bull, Elaina gave Anne a happy smile. She may have played them, but she was genuine in her thanks.

Anne returned her smile, rubbing her belly - it had been too good a day to spoil with anger, anyway.

As they walked back to camp, Varric and Bull clapped her on the back.

“You’re alright, Lady Anne Trevelyan,” he said, a big grin on his face.

Krem even smiled at that.

That night, Anne barely joined in the revelry. She took only one cup of wine, knowing it would flare her indigestion, but she couldn’t care.

Now that she had felt the quickening, her future felt so much more real. In several months, she really would have their baby. She would always have a piece of Max with her. Their baby would preserve him.

With her cup now full of water, Anne stretched out next to the fire to look up at the stars. The Breach still moved above her, as though dancing through the night sky, but now it didn’t seem so indomitable. They would find a way to close it, maybe finish this squabbling war of men. No matter what, Anne decided, she would deliver Julienne a safer world than the one she was conceived in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK - done with the Hinterlands. 
> 
> Next chapter we're heading back to Haven!


	14. Warm Returns

Anne never thought she would be so happy to see Haven again, but after over a month in the Hinterlands, chasing down rifts, and sleeping on the ground, she was downright thrilled.

Walking was starting to truly trouble her now, since her low back was now compensating for her growing belly. She certainly looked pregnant now. Her round appearance and glowing hand gave her away everywhere they went, and the smallfolk had started to take her much more seriously. Dennet’s farm was the last place she had been where no one had asked for her blessing or to pray with them. Bull said she should run a “charm offensive” on the locals as must as possible. With that in mind, she ran simple errands everywhere for them, which bolstered not just her reputation, but the Inquisition itself. People had cheered when they saw the Inquisition now.

A call went up as they came into view of the small village - a lookout bellowing that the Herald had returned. The soldiers came to crowd outside the gate - recruitment had clearly been effective, there were more soldiers now.

They passed the crowded training yards and the little memorial next to the lake. She had forgotten how peaceful the little spot had made her feel. She wanted to reach out and go sit in front of it for a while, but there was no time, or space, really.

As they passed through the gates, Anne realized they had also gained refugees and traders. It was amazing to see they now had the population of a town crowded into their tiny cantonment. The Chargers stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her, enjoying the welcome. She led them up to the Chantry where Leliana, Cassandra, Lady Josephine, and the Commander were waiting for them.

It felt oddly formal, given how impromptu it all was. Cassandra stepped forward and Anne went to meet her. The proud woman gripped her forearm in greeting.

“Well met, my Lady Herald,” she said, a faint hint of a smile on her face.

“Well met, Seeker.”

Another cheer went up. “The Herald! The Herald!”

Anne couldn’t help but smile, it was good to be back.

* * *

Anne was grateful they had come back so close to dusk. It meant only an abbreviated briefing at the war table, then dinner and bed.

When she saw Tess waiting patiently in their room, Anne almost reached out to hug her. After over a month with no formality, she had almost forgotten her manners, until Tess ducked her head in a curtsey and murmured a “milady”.

Anne sat down on the bed, wincing at the motion. As she began fumbling with the stays on the jupon, Tess came over and took over for her and Anne sighed in relief. It was nice to have someone else to help her struggle out of the jupon - it had grown to be almost too tight in the last few weeks. Tess worked her out of it, then removed the mail and pulled out a large shift Anne had not seen before.

“I made this while you were away, milady,” Tess said, holding the shift for Anne to pull over herself.

Anne hummed her thanks.

“I’ve been sewing for the Inquisition, and Lady Josephine gave me some bolts of cloth for you.”

It was a genius use of Tess while her mistress while was away. Tess had sewn all the clothes for House Trave for years.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, looking over the lovely little flowers Tess had embroidered around the neckline. The comment seemed to jar the city elf. She paused, cocking her head, but made no comment. Instead she brought a basin of water for Anne to wash herself in.

It felt lovely to be able to wash somewhere indoors for once, and Anne revelled in it. Tess passed her fresh linen and when she was done, took the basin out to dump it.

Laying down on her straw bed, Anne felt a curious trickle of loneliness. It was strange to be so alone after over a month of living, eating, and sleeping with the Chargers. She remembered the first time she had felt Julienne really kick - it had only been a week ago. She had just laid down for the night, Grim next to her, and she had yelped so loud Grim had instantly shot up from his bedroll. She grabbed him and put his hand on her belly so he could feel it too. She was shocked when he let out a whoop and announced to the Chargers that he could feel Julienne kick. Her tent quickly overflowed with Chargers all trying to feel “their baby” as they called Julie. That night she had started singing a soft lullaby as she fell asleep, in hopes of calming her down.

She smiled at the memory even as she twisted a little in discomfort. Julienne was active on and off throughout the day, but she was much more forceful at night. The lullaby did soothe her though, letting Anne get to sleep.

“ _Every night, when the sun goes in_ ,” she cooed softly, stroking her belly lazily.

The next day Tess helped Anne into her new kirtle and a special surcoat that laced together just under her arms (“So you’ll be able to loosen the laces as the baby grows,” Tess said).

It was nothing too fancy, no extra embroidery, but it was wonderful to have new clothes.

Lady Josephine clapped her hands together when Anne emerged from her room. “Oh you look lovely, Lady Anne,” she said, clasping Anne’s hands. “Your Tess has been invaluable - she’s been sewing soldier’s kits for us night and day.”

Anne beamed. In spite of feeling completely unbalanced by her new belly, she had never felt more womanly. Her curves were now fuller, her body taking on new shapes and feels. Despite her slight waddle, she still felt as though she was strutting. There was something about having a new dress, and being able to show Julienne off so easily that made her serenely happy.

Lady Josephine was leading her down the nave of the Chantry to the altar of Andraste. A little cushion had been placed there on a small stool, one of the Chantry’s red and white with the Inquisition symbol stitched into the center.

People stood back, waiting for their Herald.

“One of the pilgrims made this for you,” Josephine said, gesturing to the cushion, “so that you can kneel more comfortably.”

Anne blushed with gratitude as Josephine helped her to kneel down on it - it was much better than kneeling on the ground.

Anne smiled to herself, then bowed her head and clasped her hands. The people around her knelt, and their prayers began. Before there had been mostly just refugees and sisters, but now there were soldiers joining them. Anne stayed down as long as she could, sending up prayers for Max, for help with the Breach, for peace in the war, and reciting her Exultations.

After maybe ten minutes, she couldn’t hold herself down anymore. Anne tried to stand, but her stiff knees were not prepared. Thankfully Josephine had apparently foreseen this problem and helped her stand. She tucked Anne’s arm onto her own as they started to walk. Anne was leaning heavily against her, her knees still shaking a little. “That used to be a lot easier.”

“I won’t let go,” Josephine whispered, cuddling their intertwined arms.

Ahead of them, Anne could see trays of food in the war chamber. As she sat down with Josephine, she knew this was to be a long meeting.

They broke fast and let Commander Rutherford gave his information first, so that he could return to all his new recruits. Leliana and Josephine reported on Haven’s state of affairs. Mercifully, things had mostly held steady while Anne was away. The influx of people was relatively recent - which held with Anne’s theory that her philanthropy was behind it. Cassandra had travelled to Val Royeaux and, with Josephine’s help, had managed to secure more food and trade for the foreseeable future. She had also met with the heads of the Templars and the mages, both of whom were demanding meetings with Anne.

“What for?” Anne interrupted, confused.

Cassandra sighed. “They both are considering an alliance with the Inquisition, but they want to meet your first.”

Anne frowned. What difference did she make?

“We have all already spoken about this at length,” Cassandra continued. “We should align with one of the parties to close the Breach and to strengthen our position.”

“So who do we choose?”

Cassandra made a beleaguered noise and Leliana frowned. “Commander Cullen and Cassandra favor the Templars, while Leliana and I favor the mages,” Josephine explained. “You will be the deciding vote.”

Anne’s eyes widened. She looked down at her teacup, and grabbed at it. It was an old reflex her mother had taught her - _“If you don’t know what to say, take a sip of tea and let someone else continue the conversation.”_

“Of course we’re not deciding now,” Josephine said, reaching across to pat Anne’s arm. _She probably recognizes this trick. I wasn’t exactly smooth_ , Anne thought. “We need to debrief first, and discuss what all our options are. We plan to discuss that issue tomorrow evening - the Commander rearranged his schedule so that all five of us can discuss it. In the meantime…”

They continued with what else had happened while Anne was gone. Cassandra had recruited two agents - a thief with a network of spies and the former Orlesian Court Enchanter. Anne didn’t pretend to know Cassandra well, but she suspected the Seeker disliked both women - she didn’t hide disdain well.

Anne couldn’t help but wish their roles could have been reversed. She would have been much more at home travelling to the capitol and going to salons, like Cassandra had. Clearly the Seeker would have enjoyed whacking things with her sword.

They didn’t stop for lunch, instead having it brought into the war chamber. By the time Cassandra finished her report, Josephine had recounted all the nobles and merchants she had been in touch with, and Leliana had reported as much as she was willing to share (which Anne guessed wasn’t even half of the information she had), it was well into the afternoon.

Anne stared down at the mountain of paperwork in front of her - every requisition, invitation, and notification they had generated over the time she was gone. She thumbed through the pages, looking for her requisition for Dennet’s watchtowers. It was at the very bottom - with all the other requisitions that had been denied.

“Cassandra?” she asked, the other two women had already left.

The Seeker stopped in the door, waiting.

“Can you tell me why this would have been denied?” Anne passed her the sheaf of parchment.

Cassandra read it over, her eyes narrowing. “I cannot. It looks like Cullen denied it, it would be best to ask him.”

Anne took it back, reading it over. She was right - there at the bottom was Rutherford’s signature denying her request. She sighed impatiently, taking the other papers to her room, then heading down to the training yards around the lake.

Out of everything in Haven, the only thing she had been truly dreading was seeing that man again. On the week-long march back to Haven, she had thought about how best to deal with him. When she thought of her previous behavior, it annoyed her how meek she had been. For once, she wanted to get the first and last word.

She made her way down through the gates to the training ground. The Commander stood amongst the sparring recruits, barking orders.

As she drew level with him, he looked up and nodded stiffly to her. “My l -”

“My requisition for watchtowers in the Hinterlands was denied,” Anne interrupted archly. “Could you please explain why you denied it.”

Several emotions flickered across the man’s face - surprise, confusion, then annoyance - before he answered, “It was deemed unnecessary.”

He turned back to his second-in-command - Rylen? - and recruits, clearly attempting to end the conversation.

“Why.” It was a sharp demand for answers, not a question.

He gave an exasperated sigh and didn’t bother turning back to her. “We do not have the time or men to build them.”

Anne considered that carefully. “But we have the resources to build them?”

He looked back at her, frowning. “Yes.”

“Then we need to prioritize. We need those watchtowers.”

This time he rounded on her. “For the final time - the Inquisition cannot afford -”

Anne stood tall, even has he towered over her, and her hands came to her hips. “You will direct _our_ army to build and man these watchtowers if -”

He came down low to her face, his fierce eyes blazing. “I will do no such thing.”

Anne could feel herself being cowed, and it angered her. She hadn’t dragged her pregnant body across the Hinterlands to strike a bargain that nobody would honor.

“You will _if_ -”

“My,” said a mild voice. “This is quite the display.” The pair of them wheeled around to face the new person. A tall, elegant woman was regarding them. “But I think you would rather this were a private conversation.”

It was a polite tone, but Anne felt chided. And very visible, now that the woman had pointed it out. She blushed, hanging her head. It was unbecoming for the Herald to argue in public.

“Perhaps,” Anne said slowly, not looking at the Commander, “we should discuss this in the stables?”

He cleared his throat carefully, then made a noise of agreement. It was about as gracefully as they could handle their mutual embarrassment. As they walked over, Anne snuck a look and saw he was also flushed.

He opened the door for her, then stepped inside.

Anne stood, warily. Somehow this felt similar to the first time at the war table - to sit would be a concession. She noticed he neither sat, nor offered her a seat.

This time she waited for him to go first. When he made no noise, she raised her hand at him, as if to say “ _be my guest_ ”.

A flicker of annoyance passed over his face before he caught it, taking on as neutral a face as he could. “My lady, I cannot stress how limited our abilities are now. Our army is not made of career soldiers, we are recruiting refugee farmers. These boys and men are holding a shield for the first time in the lives. We must live within our means, and I will not sacrifice their training for some frivolous watchtowers.” Anne opened her mouth, but he continued before she could speak. “Perhaps when we have mounts this will be more feasible, but until then, please _understand_ it must be a no.”

Rutherford’s passion for his troops was undeniable. And despite his condescending tone, Anne saw him plainly for the first time. If she wasn’t itching to slap him, she could have admired his commitment to his men.

“Commander,” she said sharply, “these watchtowers are in exchange for mounts.” She cocked her head at him. “I negotiated Dennet down from six to three.” She expected an apology, but none came.

He looked startled at her words. “Why did you not include that in the requisition?”

Now it was Anne’s turn to be startled. She folded her arms, saying coldly, “I should think any requisition I make would be filled, since I am in the field and representing the Inquisition.”

Cullen raised a gloved hand to cover his face. Anne felt a little victory, sitting atop her moral high ground. But when he lowered his hand, fury emanated from every pore. “Our council is a team. Assume you are one of equals, not the first.”

With that he turned on his heel to open the door. As he was leaving, he said stiffly, “I will tell Knight Captain Rylen to commission our most qualified soldiers to fill your requisition.”

With that, Rutherford left her alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).
> 
> Anne's lullaby is [Every Night When the Sun Goes In](https://youtu.be/T10spMz7Kw0).
> 
> Y'all ready? Next chapter is deciding between the mages and Templars!


	15. Decisions in Malice, Decisions in Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blessed be the Beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).

It _should_ have felt like a victory.

Anger coursed through Anne. Pure, unbridled anger at that condescending man, and not an ounce of triumph. Her eyes prickled and she realized she was about to start crying. _I’ve never cried out of anger before_ , she mused, looking accusingly at Julienne. Her body was all out of sorts now - pregnancy was much more emotional than everyone said.

 _Yes, you have_ , said that nasty voice in the back of her mind. _When you’re silently howling your prayers to the Maker for Max_.

Every day she missed Max, but now she felt a sharp pang in her chest. She had come to recognize it as her signal that the grief was about to crash over her again. The dulled ache that sat in her bones sharpened and suddenly everything felt so much more difficult. She yanked the chair out from the little desk as though it were its fault her emotions were overcoming her.

As she sat down, the thought that haunted her seeped into the forefront of her mind: Max really should have been the one to survive. He was so amiable, so calm, even in anger, that no one ever disliked him. He probably could even get that rude, surly, collosus of a man to like him.

Another tear rolled down her cheek, and she swiped it away. Mama would certainly have words about her crying over some lowborn upstart. The thought made her laugh, though it mostly sounded like a sob.

She realized she was crying because she was angry, grieving, and now _also_ homesick, and groaned. Sometimes it was so hard to think, with all these emotions in her. Her hand went absently to her belly, to rub Julienne. She had been mostly quiet this morning, but now with Anne’s belly shaking from the sobbing, she was moving around.

It took another ten minutes to get herself together. She knew her face was still splotchy when she left the stables, but nothing could help that besides some cold water.

It took all her willpower to leave the stable. Blackwall was hovering near the smithy next door and gave her a meaningful look. She managed a weak smile for him. The woman that had interrupted her argument was walking purposefully toward her, but at the last second Blackwall proffered his arm to Anne and steered her away. She was grateful to him, letting her head rest on his shoulder for a moment before she whispered that she needed to go back to the Chantry. He nodded but didn’t force anymore conversation as he walked her through Haven.

Anne spent the rest of the day working with Josephine on correspondence to various Marcher nobles. She listed any connections they could mine in the name of Trave, Trevelyan, and the Inquisition, anyone who used the crops of her family or the mercantile trade of Max’s.

Just after dinner was brought to Josephine’s office, Anne picked up a blank piece of parchment and stared at it uncomfortably. She had been planning this letter for weeks, since her time in the Hinterlands, but now that she had her opportunity, she had no idea what to write. She wanted to write to her parents, tell her Mama everything about her pregnancy, tell her Papa about how she was handling Inquisition business, but now it felt impossible. How could she tell them everything - she didn’t even believe some of it: How she was now working with a Qunari and his mercenary band, that she had become competent in combat, that her hand was split down the palm with green light…

Her quill hovered over the page, and she looked to Josephine.

“What do you tell your family?” she asked quietly.

Josephine’s quill stopped mid-sentence in her correspondence to the provisional viscount of Kirkwall. She looked from the blank page to Anne’s face, then back to the page. Gently she reached out and held Anne’s hand. “I tell them I am serving the Maker to the best of my ability,” she said. “I tell them that I love them, that I miss them, and that I hope I make them proud.”

Anne bit her lip and nodded. That was the broadest way for her to tell her parents what she was doing, the easiest. Anne gave her hand a thankful squeeze and dipped the quill in the ink to start.

There was a faint knock a few moments later and Cassandra entered.

“It is almost time for the us to convene,” she said, coming over to their table and standing next to Anne.

“I have talked to Cullen about his behavior,” she said, without finesse. “He has agreed to control his temper, especially in public.” She looked down her nose pointedly at Anne. “I need to ask the same of you. And in the future, please be more specific in your requisitions.”

Wincing slightly at Cassandra’s words, Anne sat back in her chair. “Yes, I will do better.” The was all the Commander’s fault, she had decided: her requisitions should be filled without question when she is in the field, but she could compromise if he would.  

The Seeker gave her a curt nod, then looked to Josephine. “Madame de Fer is asking for an audience with the Herald.”

“Who?” asked Anne.

“The woman who interrupted your public display today,” Cassandra replied sharply, not looking at Anne. “Vivienne de Fer, the former Imperial Enchanter.”

Josephine shook her head, making a small frustrated noise. Clearly there were unfriendly feelings toward Madame de Fer in this circle. “Lady Anne, would you have tea with Madame de Fer tomorrow?”

Anne nodded as Leliana opened the door. “It’s time.”

They filed out and into the war chamber. The Commander walked in last, then said stiffly, “Knight-Captain Rylen will be leading ten of our men to Horsemaster Dennet’s farm to build three watchtowers.”

Everyone took the announcement without comment.

Some spiced wine was brought for the others and some ginger tea for Anne. Nobody really talked as they situated themselves and reviewed Josephine and Anne’s notes.

Leliana was the first to finally broach the topic they were all dreading - who should they align with? She started with the basics: The mages were currently in Redcliffe, being led by Grand Enchanter Fiona. “We should consider their suit. Mages have the strongest connection to the Fade and best chance of closing the Breach.”

Cassandra and Rutherford exchanged looks. She spoke first. “The mages are an unstable force. Fiona is a leader in name only. She represents the free mages, most of whom are not in Redcliffe. We would gain only two hundred people -”

“But,” Josephine interrupted gently, “we currently do not have the supplies or space to host the mages or the Templars.”

Cassandra nodded. “But if we align with the Templars, we would get at least five hundred fully-trained soldiers.”

Anne looked thoughtfully from Cassandra to Leliana. “There’s no chance we could align with the Templars and bring the mages into Circles with us?”

Josephine shook her head. “The free mages will not return to the Circles, even if the Chantry is no longer overseeing them. If we go to the Templars first, we lose our ability to bargain with the mages, and vice versa. They no longer trust each other, not even enough to negotiate.”

“So if we go to the Templars, we get soldiers, but no chance of closing the Breach?” Anne asked.

“Templars have their own ways to connect to the Fade,” Cassandra said.

Anne frowned, that wasn’t exactly an answer. “You’re not sure?”

The Seeker winced and shook her head.

Leliana took a sip of her wine, watching Anne carefully. “We cannot be certain either party can close the Breach.”

Anne couldn’t hide her shock. “We might not be able to close it at all?”

“No,” Leliana said as the Commander said, “Yes.”

Everyone turned to look at him, though Anne noticed Josephine and Leliana looked doubtful.

“I am a former Templar, I know what the Order can do - they can close the Breach,” he said firmly.

“You cannot promise that, Cullen,” Leliana said sharply.

“I can,” he snapped and the mood in the room changed. Anne saw the other three women shift uncomfortably in their seats. “The Templars can use their Fade connection to shut the Fade out of mages. With enough we can close that Breach.”

Cassandra sighed heavily. “Cullen believes -”

“I’m right here,” he said waspishly.

“- the Templars can close it and _he would know best,_ ” she finished, arching her eyebrow at him. “I trust his judgment, even if I no longer trust Lord Seeker Lucius.”

“Who?” Anne asked.

“The Lord Seeker has taken the remaining Ferelden Templars to Therinfal Redoubt,” Cassandra explained. “He would have you come to him to negotiate terms.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona seemed more in control of herself than Lucius did at Val Royeaux,” Leliana pointed out.

Anne looked back to Cassandra for more. “The Lord Seeker was...not himself,” the Seeker said carefully. “He attacked a Sister in the street.”

“He _what?”_

Cassandra nodded at Anne. “He has never been one for grandstanding, but perhaps this conflict has changed him.”

Anne looked at her tea, processing the conversation. Any Templar attacking a Chantry Sister was unheard of, let alone the head of the Templars. Anne had heard of the Lucius only in passing, back in Ostwick, when Max declared that the leader of the Templars would not be present for the Conclave....

“The Templars are still our best chance for closing the Breach and gaining an army,” Rutherford said, watching Anne.

Anne found she was chewing on her thumbnail, something she used to do when she was thinking and a very bad habit she thought her mother had berated out of her. She squished her hands into her lap abruptly, trying to pretend she hadn’t been doing something so silly in public.

“The mages could also become a wing of our army,” Leliana said, crossing her legs primly. “We could train them to be part of our forces.”

The Commander glared at her, exasperated, but Josephine cut in before he could open his mouth, saying, “Both sides would be excellent additions to our army.”

“But the mages will not subject themselves to our authority,” Rutherford said. “We have enough Templars to recreate the Circle, but do you honestly believe they will come willingly?”

Leliana looked at him sideways from under her hood, radiating frustration. “No one is saying recruiting either side would be done without compromise.”

“We all know your stance, Leliana,” he said, Anne detecting a hint of a sneer.

“Lady Anne does not,” said Josephine gently.

Before Leliana could explain, the Commander said, “She would see all mages freed from the Chantry and the Circles.”

Anne looked over at the spymaster in surprise. “Do you not believe magic exists to serve men?”

“I do,” Leliana said, glaring at Rutherford. “But that does not mean I believe in kidnapping children, separating them from their parents, and imprisoning them in towers. Magic can serve men outside of the Circles.”

Anne hummed a polite sound - something between an “ _oh”_ and a “ _hmm_ ”. She tried to imagine a time before the Circles, but everything she knew told her that it was horrendous and dangerous for everyone - especially mages. How could they protect themselves from demons? If Andraste had chosen her for this, how could she abandon them?

“If we side with the mages, won’t the Templars be forced to join us?” Anne mused. “After all, it is their duty to protect the mages.”

Cassandra looked a little shocked. “Yes,” she said slowly, glancing at the Commander. “It is possible.”

“Possible, but not guaranteed,” he pointed out.

“The mages need our protection,” Anne said slowly, “And the Templars will join us when we ask them to help reform the Circles. We should contact the Grand Enchanter.”

The Commander gripped the pommel of his sword. “Is this your final decision?”

Anne considered him carefully. She could tell this would win her no favors from him. “Yes.”

He gripped his sword even tighter, and Anne couldn’t help but shrink back a little. Rationally she knew he would never draw it, but the image he made, angrily grasping it, made her uncomfortable.

“You should know,” he said very slowly. “That it would be safer for you and your child to go to the Templars than to go to the mages.”

Anne’s mouth dropped.

“Are you using my daughter to make your argument?” she asked, her blood going cold. Her marked hand flared to life.

Rutherford shrugged. “The Templars are safer than the free mages.”

Anne stood up too fast and had to hold onto the table to keep her balance. “And you can promise that, can you, Commander?” The anger she had contained earlier roiled through her. “Are you the Maker now, can you promise who lives and who dies?” Her voice was rising, tears springing to her eyes. “Did you prevent the carnage at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, did you protect us all from the threat then?”

His eyes widened and his face flushed. “No one could have prevented the explosion.”

“Then do not make promises you cannot keep.” Anne found herself in front of him, pushing on his armor with a pointed finger. “And do not ever speak of my daughter again. Don’t think everything I’m doing here isn’t for her.”

She turned to the rest of the group. “Write to Grand Enchanter Fiona, Lady Josephine. Tell her I wish to treat with her.”

With that, Anne left, slamming the door. Thankfully the Chantry was mostly cleared out, only a few people saw the tears streaming down her face. She quickly turned into her room and shut the door.

“Milady?” Tess asked, rising from her position sewing in the candlelight. “Is everything all right?”

Gasping for air, Anne sank down on Tess’s bed. “He is - he is so - so -”

She was so angry she couldn’t speak.

“Was it the Commander again?” Tess asked, pouring some water out of the jug on the washstand.

Anne nodded, then looked up at Tess. “Again?”

Tess looked down and away. “People were talking about the fight by the lake earlier. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Anne’s head sank into her hands, shame filling her. Her mother always said only gossip could travel faster than fire. She remembered a night when she was eleven. She had been caught playing with the stableboy - they were playing Templars and Mages, and she was the mage. They had been caught by the hostler as Adalard had pinned her down to take her back to the Circle. It was the last time she had been allowed to play with the other children on the manor.

She groaned, rubbing her belly. “I am not behaving like a Herald,” she whispered. _I’ll do better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Anne's perspectives are best summed up by [this song](https://open.spotify.com/album/051QaBZ0LcZ7ZOM35VX8R1).


	16. Restless Summer Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness!

It took several days before Rutherford was ready to approach Anne. In fairness, it took several days before Anne was ready to be approached.

Her anger was diminished, replaced with introspection. In a way, that day had scared her; she had never felt so out of control. It made her focus inward on the frustration, like a dissection of a dead feeling. She had spent the better part of three days trying to understand why they could not simply get along for the sake of the Inquisition, and had come to one conclusion: Rutherford had never respected her. But knowing that wouldn’t change him, so Anne found herself numb to the truth. Her face became a sweet, neutral mask, her words chosen more carefully. A little light had gone out of her eyes.

Bull called her on it, too. She was coming home from an evening spent training with Blackwall when she stopped to talk with him at Varric’s fire. There was a council meeting soon, but she had until the Commander shut the gates for the night.

“Hey, boss, how you holding up?”

She gave him a hollow smile and unslung her bow. “I hit the target every time today.”

“That’s not what I asked.” She glanced up at him and with a look, knew he wanted to talk. “You need to sort that shit with Cullen out.”

Hearing it out loud made it feel even more true. “Yes,” Anne sighed. She tugged at her plait, pulling the ribbon out and carding her fingers through her long hair. “Max would have known what to do.”

“You said you talked to him?”

Anne shook her head. “I used to. I don’t hear him anymore.”

“But you used to,” Bull prompted, giving her a meaningful look. She nodded, but couldn’t see what he was getting at. “So when did you used to hear him?”

When she thought back those conversations, they always centered her when she felt unbalanced. “When I was confused.”

Bull was nodding his head, his eyebrow arched, as though he was herding her to his point with his facial expression alone. “So _he_ would help _you_?”

“Yes,” she said, bewildered as ever. “I don’t see your point.”

Bull sighed and downed his tankard. “You know that was just you telling yourself what you needed to hear, right? That was you the whole time.”

Anne’s mouth opened and closed of its own accord several times. All those times when she was praying or frustrated or lost, when she heard Max, she had felt assured, safe. _But he’s been so much smarter than me,_ she thought, remembering all the times he pointed out how to handle her problems,  _I couldn't have come up with those ideas_. Obviously she hadn't actually been talking to Max, but she hadn't critically thought about where he came from or where he went. _He was just there, when I needed him_.

Her last thought made her head jerk up to look at Bull. _Max was what I needed before_ , she realized, _until I could do this on my own_.

As comprehension dawned in her eyes, Bull smiled. “I just turned your world upside down, didn’t I?” Looking at her face, he gave a deep, rumbling laugh. “And I didn’t even need to get your clothes off.”

Anne blushed at the innuendo. It was almost impossible to ignore the reputation he had built for himself on the road and in Haven. She was fairly certain she had even overheard a Sister discussing “riding the Bull”.

He leaned over to stoke the fire. It was getting well and truly dark now. “So what would Max suggest?”

Anne stared into her tea for a moment. What would Max say...Max would probably seem them as equals, military-trained and -minded. _“Let the big man feel big,”_ she heard his voice say in the back of her mind.

“He would try to make him comfortable, make him feel important…” Anne said slowly, raising her head to look back at Bull. She looked over at the gates to see Rutherford ordering them shut for the night. “Perhaps I could invite him to treat with the mages?”

Bull looked at her, impressed. “Yeah, I think that would do it.”

“Do you really think it’ll make a difference?” she asked.

“ _Ben-Hassrath_ , remember?” he said, giving her his best crooked smile.

Anne shook her head. “I never did ask what that means.”

Just then, the Commander approached with the midwife’s grandson, Tol. “Milady!” the boy called, running towards her. “Gran wanted me to deliver this earlier, but I was with the Chancellor.” He handed Anne a small satchel. “She says nettle tea helps settle the body.”

Rutherford came up behind him. “You better get going. Ask for Rylen on the other side, he’ll have a soldier take you home.”

Tol gave a short bow then turned and waved as he ran back to the gate. As soon as he was on the other side, the doors were shut for the night.

Anne had hoped Rutherford might start walking up to the Chantry without her, but when she turned to look, he was still there. He cleared his throat, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. He opened his mouth once, then shut it.

“Lady Anne,” he said to fill the silence.

She hummed in response. Behind the Commander, Bull was watching them with an obnoxiously smug grin.

“Perhaps we could - ah - walk to the Chantry together?”

Anne gave a short nod, because what else could she do. As she passed Bull, he winked encouragingly at her. She rather wanted to slap him.

The silence was oppressive. All around them were active, chattering townspeople, but Anne couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“The weather has been hot,” Rutherford remarked. It sounded forced.

“Commander,” Anne heard herself saying. “I was thinking it might be best if you accompanied me to Redcliffe.”

He stopped in his tracks, looking down at her in surprise.

“Given your Templar history, your experience and insight would be invaluable.”

He looked rather stunned. Anne was rather stunned herself. She had meant what she said but she didn’t know where it had come from. In the past, when she had moments like this she had been able to say it was Max helping her. But here, there was no other voice, it was just her.

“We should talk to Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra about this,” he said carefully. “But I agree.”

They started walking again. The silence returned, though it felt a little less pressured.

“Perhaps we should all go,” he continued after a moment. “It would present a unified front.”

Anne considered that - it would be an excellent way to represent the Inquisition. “I agree,” she said.

They had reached the Chantry. Rutherford stepped in front of her to open the door, allowing her to go ahead. People held the door open for her all the time, but never the Commander.

As she passed through, she gave him a wan smile. “Thank you.”

In the end, it was decided they would all go to Redcliffe. Once Rylen returned from building the watchtowers, he would take over training the recruits, and they could set off. The Chargers would accompany them as Anne's bodyguards, along with Solas and Blackwall.

The last several weeks of All Soul’s passed in a blur. A hot, humid blur. Day after day it felt like the temperature was climbing, and soon people were openly praying for rain or a storm, something to make the heat break.

Anne was chief among them. She was spending the majority of her time indoors - anything to avoid the foul weather. She could swear Julienne was baking from the inside out, and it was embarrassing how sweaty she was. Maude now estimated Anne had maybe two months left before Julienne was born and agreed that it was the pregnancy was exacerbating her physical and emotional problems. Worst of all, worse even than the sweating, was Anne’s renewed interest in men. For the first time in months her body craved male attention, and it was driving her mad. The constant attraction to the recruits she passed, the bizarre urge to flirt with the Chargers, all of it was strange and uncharted and _wrong_. She had even caught herself looking at the Commander out of the corner of her eye.

In the end, they didn’t set off for Redcliffe until the first week of Kingsway. Anne found herself constantly fatigued on the road, but at least this time she was sitting in the back of a horse-drawn wagon for two weeks, rather than walking for four.

 _This is the last one_ , she kept telling herself, _this is the last excursion before I go home_. As the end of her pregnancy approached, Anne had made it abundantly clear she would be going home once the Breach was closed to have her baby. She would spend three months back in Ostwick and Ansburg, before returning to continue closing rifts.

It was strange watching her worlds collide. The Chargers and the council were like oil and water. Lady Josephine often hitched her horse to the back of the wagon so that she could sit with Anne and review their correspondence, which meant Grim was reduced to his grumpy, uncommunicative self. Stitches, who had been reassigned to Anne for the journey, was left to make the conversation flow between two noble ladies and two mercenary foot soldiers. Try as he might, it was impossible to have a conversation between the four of them. The only time there was comfortable chatting was when Bull was driving the wagon. Or when someone started a bawdy ballad.

The night before they expected to arrive, Leliana informed them her scouts had had no news from the city in three days. A rift had opened in front of Redcliffe’s walls, so the city had been ordered shut. It all left a bad taste in all their mouths.

The next day felt like the hottest yet. Anne could not have been more relieved to be so close to a town. While her chainmail shirt no longer fit, the faithful jupon had been on her overheated person every day of travel. Tess had split a seam in the back to create more space for Julienne in the front, leaving her back exposed. Even with the new air flow on her back, though, she was sweating heavily.

Josephine had tied her horse to the back of the wagon and was now crouched behind Anne, trying desperately to do _something_ about her hair. Every few minutes Anne would hear tsk-ing or some other noise of frustration. Leliana rode up next to the cart, laughing.

“Josie, you’ll never get it just so. Leave her be.”

Anne personally agreed, but Josephine had seemed so set on making her presentable. “Our Herald cannot meet dignitaries in plaidweave _and_ a frizzy bun,” she said vehemently.

The jupon was non-negotiable though, another thing that both Anne and Commander Rutherford agreed upon. So instead Josephine was left to make the rest of Anne as respectable as possible. The Antivan took a fistful of hair from the side and yanked it harder than Anne would have thought possible to twist it up somewhere on the back of her head.

Up ahead she could see a cloud of dust on the road approaching them - Dalish was returning from scouting ahead. As she rode up, she made straight for the Commander instead of Bull.

“There!” Josephine said with a final flourish, as she placed a last pin somewhere on Anne’s head.

Bull looked back at Anne and flashed Josephine a smile. “I think we’re about to ruin all your pretty work.”

The Commander was wheeling his destrier back to their wagon. “Rift ahead, fourteen demons counted.”

Anne was shocked - she had never seen that many demons at any rift, not even at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. “You heard him - horns up!” Bull said, stopping the wagon. The cart wobbled as Josephine moved shakily back to her horse, making Anne feel a little nauseous. She followed Josephine’s progress as she jumped down and untied her horse from the wagon. Her eyes were wide and her face had lost some color.

“Blackwall?” Anne called. He turned his horse back to draw level with her. “Look after my Lady Josephine,” she whispered.

Turning back to face front, she almost missed the fond smile Bull flashed her.

“There’s something different about this one,” Dalish called from the front. “It’s not acting like the others.”

Anne exchanged a look with Bull. “What does that mean?”

Dalish shook her head. “I don’t know, boss, I...” Anne realized she had never seen the elf look like this before. “I can’t describe it.”

Bull looked to the Commander, then back to Anne. “I want you in the back of the wagon until the demons are gone,” he said. If she didn’t know him so well, she would have missed the slight edge in his voice.

Anne nodded, but had to stop herself as another small wave of nausea came over her. Gripping tight to the wagon’s sides, she fought a sick sensation - it was as though she had missed a step on a stair.

Within five minutes they came on the rift in front of the shut gates. The demons that had been pressing against the walls wheeled to face their small horde. Bull held the wagon a good fifty feet off from the battle. Maybe it was for the best, she kept feeling sicker.

 _It’s been over a month since I’ve seen a rift_ , she realized. Over a month, and her body was _singing_ for it. As she watched a fear demon slither to the ground, Anne felt a heave from just below her lungs. She nearly fell off the cart as her body went sideways. This time it hadn’t felt like missing a stair - it was like falling.

Grim and Stitches were shouting for Bull as the medic came around to try and help her.

Holding herself on all fours, she looked up to see that same fear demon seeping back upwards from the ground. It hadn’t disappeared, like they always did when they slithered into the earth. Instead it moved as though it was going in reverse. The rage demon behind it was lurching the same way. She looked up to see the rift looked all wrong - it wasn’t moving and flickering anymore. Anne’s marked hand _screamed_.

“ _Boss?”_ Bull yelled, coming over the wagon to hold her.

Her palm spasmed open and shut and it was as though the demons and the rift were suddenly released. Everything started moving as normal again. She could breathe again.

“The rift -” she tried to whisper, but she couldn’t hear herself over the ringing in her ears.

Bull was stroking her back now, and Grim moved up to hold the reins. “You’re alright,” he was saying in her ear. There was something comforting about being held by someone so large. She felt almost as though he was holding her together.

Anne’s hand screamed again, and she knew she screamed with it. The wagon was moving forward. Her hand was itching to shut the rift. She knew they must have killed all the demons. Slowly her hand was rising to connect with its mate.

“We’re almost there,” Bull said, easing her up.

As her hand shut, the ringing in her ears abruptly eased to a faint buzzing.

The others were crowding around the wagon, asking what was wrong. Anne shook her head and sat back against the wagon side. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

“Solas?” Cassandra asked, dismounting and turning to the apostate. “Can you explain this?”

Anne lifted her head to see Solas shaking his head. “This was no ordinary rift. It was as though it was causing temporal distortions. And we have never faced one that sickened Lady Anne," he added, almost as an afterthought.

The Commander looked shaken but somehow still annoyed.“What does that mean?”

“I’ve never seen demons do that shit before,” Bull said.

“It was like the rift was warped,” Skinner added.

Solas nodded at the city elf.“It should not be possible, but it was seemed to interrupt the flow of everything around it.”

The portcullis opened and a city guard came out, thanking them loudly. Josephine and Blackwall trotted their horses to him, explaining who they were and asking for Fiona. The guard’s face darkened and he all but spat, “She’ll be in the town square.”

Bull drove the wagon down the hillside into the portside town. It was market day and the townsquare was full, but even still, Leliana could easily spot Fiona. “It appears our friend has been making enemies,” she said lightly, watching as a small crowd was shouting in front of an elf woman.

As they approached, Fiona broke off from the crowd. Her expression made Anne falter - she was looking at them with something like dawning horror.

“Grand Enchanter?” Josephine asked, dismounting.

Fiona nodded. “The Inquisition?” Josephine nodded, making a small bow.

“Did you not receive my letter?” Fiona asked delicately.

 _Something is wrong here_ , Anne realized.

“No,” Josephine said blankly.

From her nausea, Anne could feel they were close to another rift. She couldn’t see where, but there was no mistaking that sinking feeling.

“Perhaps we should meet after you have settled in?” Fiona suggested, gesturing them towards a building down the road.

Josephine accepted and they followed her to the inn. They were exchanging pleasantries, but Anne couldn’t hear them. The echoing in her head was getting louder. She saw Fiona break off from the group as they stopped, and Anne watched her in confusion. _Doesn’t she want us to close it?_

Bull came around to help her off the cart. “There’s a rift nearby,” she whispered to him as he helped her down.

He nodded, but didn’t draw attention to it. Instead he announced, “The Chargers will be staying outside the city gates.” Anne heard Krem grumbling, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. Looking from Bull to his people she guessed it was a code - he wasn’t happy either. She desperately wanted to go hunt it down, but instead followed the others as they trooped inside. As Josephine started setting up a tab with the innkeeper, Anne followed the others upstairs.

She sat on the bed, holding her head. Cassandra poured out some water on a towel for her and laid it across her neck.

“There’s another close by?” Leliana asked, kneeling in front of her.

Anne nodded mutely. If she was going to have to pretend to be fine, she wanted to save her strength for when it mattered.

“I fear Fiona’s done something stupid,” said Leliana, standing up. “Though I can’t see how she she is involved with the rifts.”

Solas frowned. “Are you sure Fiona and the rifts are connected?”

Their spymaster raised her eyebrow lightly. “When there is another one so close that the Herald is effected, and Fiona does not ask us to close it? Yes, I am sure.”

There was a knock and Josephine popped her head in. “Fiona is here. She has brought a guest. And his entourage.” She looked shaken. “Magister Gereon Alexius.”

Everyone froze.

“Tevinter is here?” Leliana asked.

Josephine nodded. “With a small force.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Dorian!
> 
> Thank you again to my beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).
> 
> Also, I got a [Tumblr](http://xmedea.tumblr.com/)!


	17. A Tevinter Host I

Anne sat regarding the two fools in front of her.

Given her treatment over the past few months, she was used to condescension. But Fiona and her Magister were reaching new depths of derision. Whatever was going on with the rifts, they were certainly involved. Fiona had received their letter, asking to treat. And yet she was so concerned that in the meantime, she had given herself and all her mages over to the Imperium.

“In order to gain full rights, the Free Mages are indentured to the Imperium for ten years. As their Magister, I will oversee their work for that time,” Alexius said slickly.

“What could the Imperium want,” Leliana said sharply, “with Southern mages?”

Alexius shrugged. “They are currently an expense,” he admitted. “But once they are trained, they will join our Legion.”

Anne paled as Fiona whirled to face the Magister. “You said we would not all be military! What about the elderly and the sick? What about the children?”

“One day, after they have worked off their debts, they won’t have to be,” he replied. It was a clear dismissal.

Fiona looked as though she were trying to rein in her anger, and it took her a long moment to stand and join a very pale man behind Anne. Fiona just seemed so useless. Anne decided then that the Grand Enchanter wasn’t pretending: She genuinely did not know nor understand what she had gotten herself into.

“We would like to hire their service to close the Breach,” the Commander ground out.

The Magister flashed him a grin. “The Imperium will, of course, be recompensed?”

Josephine cleared her throat, just as the pale man behind Anne toppled into her. As she turned to see what happened, she felt something small being jammed into her hand. “Please,” the man whispered.

“Felix!” Alexius cried, jumping up from the table and coming over to Anne. He caught the man under his arm and helped him up.

“I’m sorry, father,” the man said weakly.

It took a moment for Anne to understand Felix was younger than Alexius. His face was so ashen and worn, he could almost pass for older. Looking at him closely, Anne understood: Felix was infected by the Blight. Ansburg had taken in sick refugees from Ferelden during the last Blight, and Anne could remember some of them from her childhood slowly disappearing until there were none left.

A baser instinct almost made her immediately drop whatever Felix had push into her hand, but as she moved as though to smooth her jupon, she could feel it was a piece of paper.

“You must excuse me, we will discuss this later,” Alexius was saying. He helped his faint son out the door. “Fiona! I need you in the castle,” he barked on the way out.

The Grand Enchanter followed, along with several guards.

Anne looked around to Leliana who gestured for them to return the room upstairs. As soon as they were out of sight of the common room, Anne opened up the paper in her palm: _Come to the Chantry, you are in danger._

After much arguing over what to do next, they left Blackwall to protect Josephine at the inn, and headed for the Chantry. It didn’t take long for Anne to realize their destination and the location of  the rift were one and the same.

It was decided Bull and Anne would wait outside while the others took care of the demons. Once it was all clear, she would come in at the last moment to close it. Bull was chosen because he could best obscure the effects of the rift on Anne’s body.

After a few minutes, her hand started to rise and she knew the rift was ready to close. She waited for the three knocks that gave the all clear, her palm itching horribly.

But it wasn’t coming. The itch was spreading and the clawing feeling of being split in two made her groan. “It’s okay, boss, I’ve got you,” Bull was whispering.

She shook her head and it kept shaking. “It needs to -”

The three knocks came and Anne burst through the doors, falling down on her right hand as her left hand snatched at the rift. She felt the connection and the actual slam of the Fade shutting.

Gasping from the floor, she realized there was an extra pair of legs in the room. She looked up to see an unfairly handsome mage. As Bull slowly collected her off the ground, she locked eyes with him.

“Fascinating,” the man mused. “How does that work exactly?”

It took a moment to realize she had left her mouth open from when she was gasping on the floor.

“Oh, you don’t even know, do you?” he remarked, giving her a crooked smile. “Dorian of House Pavus, formerly of Tevinter.”

“He says he can help us,” Leliana said, clearly not convinced. Anne looked to see she was still aiming her bow at Dorian. He was ignoring it blithely.

“Yes, though I can’t say I was expecting a Qunari,” Dorian said, eyeing Bull.

Anne sat down in the closest pew, grateful that the buzzing her body had been experiencing since entering Redcliffe was almost completely gone. There was some undercurrent of it left, but she was almost sure there were no rifts left in the city.

“Where is Felix?” she asked.

Dorian slung his staff behind him and sat down in a pew a couple rows ahead. “Probably couldn’t get away from his father.”

“You said he was your mentor,” Rutherford growled.

“Former mentor,” Dorian said. “I don’t make the habit of following mad men.”

Anne looked at him in confusion. “Alexius did not seem mad.”

The mage peered at her, and she could tell he was sizing her up. “You all seem very suspicious of Alexius, but do you even understand why?”

“He’s a ‘Vint,” grunted Bull.

“Well spotted,” Dorian said tartly. “He is from Tevinter. But have you figured out how he stole the mages out from under you?”

He smiled at their stony silence. “Once his spies among the Southern mages received word you wanted to treat with them, he would have to race here to beat you at quiet the pace.”

“That’s not possible,” Leliana said. “No one could get from Minrathous to Redcliffe that fast.”

Dorian shook his head. “Not without magic.”

“That’s impossible,” Solas said, coming forward. “No mage can Fade Step that far.”

“No, which is why he punched a hole through time,” Dorian said amicably.

Bull snorted in derision, but Solas’s face drained. _He believes that?_ Anne wondered.

“No one can manipulate time, let alone time _and_ the Fade,” Solas whispered.

“Yes, now you’ve spotted the problem behind these rifts. You saw how they twisted time around themselves.”

Anne looked to Solas’s horrified face. “Is that what was happening?” she asked, but she knew the answer before the elf nodded.

“In order to steal the mages from the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself. He arrived three days ago.” Dorian’s face darkened slightly. “Like I said, I don’t follow mad men.”

Anne felt sick. Time itself had been folded back at the whim of some Magister.

“Did he do this to me?” she asked abruptly, raising her marked hand.

Dorian moved as though to come closer, but Leliana cleared her throat, reminding him she still had an arrow trained on him. “No, he was not at the Conclave,” he said.

“We must stop him now,” Solas said. “The Fade here feels wrong. It is wildly unstable.”

Dorian nodded, looking from him to Leliana. “These time rifts will spread. This magic has the power to unravel the world.” Anne’s hands went to Julienne and she saw the Commander clutch at the pew next to her. Dorian looked at her, then down to her pregnant belly. “I don’t know why he has done this, but Alexius is here for you.”

“Why should we trust you?” Leliana said, as if unaffected by what Dorian said.

“Because I stand to lose as much as everyone else does - and we will all lose everything.”

Leliana regardly him carefully, then lowered her bow. Dorian smiled at that, until she said, “Bull, stay here with him. If he tries to leave, kill him. If I am not back in two bells, kill him.”

She opened the door, and they filed out. No one said a word until they were back in their room at the inn. As Anne sat on a bed and explained to Blackwall and Josephine what had happened, Leliana and Rutherford talked quietly among themselves.

“When we see the Magister next -” Rutherford was saying, when Josephine jumped in and offered him a letter.

“He’s sent an invitation for dinner tonight at the seventh bell.”

“Josie, you are leaving the city now,” Leliana said, coming to hold her friend’s hand. “We should not have all come here.”

Rutherford barked a mirthless laugh. “If we had known a Magister would recruit the Southern Mages into the Imperium, we would have done many things differently.”

Cassandra glared at him. “We should get our leadership out of here.”

Leliana nodded.

“But Lady Anne must stay,” Josephine said, looking down to Anne.

Anne’s mouth opened to argue.

“She’s right,” Leliana said quietly. “Our only option now is to spring his trap. If you are what he wants, you must go.”

Anne’s hands folded across her belly. This wouldn’t be the first time they had used her experimentally. Not for the first time she wondered if they had known she was pregnant before they sent her to fight the rifts. At least this time they had the advantage of Leliana’s agents. They were right, her only option was to go. She looked up at them and gave a short nod.

“Then I’m going with you,” Blackwall declared.

“I will, too,” said Rutherford.

Anne looked up in surprise to the Commander. He looked drawn but determined. “It may be all he wants is to bargain, but I’m not willing to take that chance.”

“I told my agents to meet me here after we opened the gates,” Leliana said. “I know a secret way into the castle - they’ll be there to protect you as well.”

Anne nodded. There was nothing else for it.

Leliana went to meet with her agents and update Dorian. Afterwards she brought back Dorian and Bull, who, along with a surprisingly firm Solas, volunteered to go with Anne to the castle. Leliana and Josephine left by the back door to join the Chargers soon after.

As the last hour passed, they plotted their strategies for the night, and when the sun was finally starting to set, they made a quiet journey to the castle. Not even Bull was in a joking mood.

Alexius greeted them warmly in the castle’s main hall, and for a few fleeting minutes, Anne thought maybe it would just be a simple negotiation.

There was the usual formalities - _thank you_ for the invitation and for coming - and some explanations - _our ambassador has been called away on business, but Commander Rutherford and I will handle the negotiations_. But Alexius and Felix stood at the the throne, rather than the table laden with food, and nobody was asking each other to sit. It was tense, but not uncivil.

Then Dorian walked in.

“I gave you a chance to be part of this, Dorian,” Alexius was growling. “You had your chance, now leave.”

The mage stood his ground. “Alexius, everything you’re doing - it’s everything we said we would never do.”

“Father,” Felix said, coming out from the shadow of the throne. “You have to stop this.”

Fear flickered across Alexius’s face. “What have you done?” he whispered.

“I can’t let you do this,” Felix said, drawing level with his father.

 _“I’m doing this for you,”_ Alexius cried. “All of this, this is for you, _he said he would be able to heal you._ ”

“Who did?” asked Fiona, but she was ignored.

“Seize them!” commanded Alexius.

But none of his men moved forward. Instead they dropped, with Leliana’s agents knives in their backs.

Alexius looked in horror from his dead men to Anne. “ _You,_ ” he screamed, “are a mistake. You should not exist, and I will unmake you for the Elder One.”

There was a flash of green light, something grabbed Anne’s arm, and then darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I have a [Tumblr](http://xmedea.tumblr.com/)!


	18. A Tevinter Host II

Darkness echoed through the world. The black was all around Anne, eating through her, breaking through her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the taste of the black was so rancid that it choked her. She fought back, but nothing happened. She couldn’t feel her limbs moving.

A sick thought struck Anne. With no light, she couldn’t see her body. The only way she was certain she was moving was because her mind said so. Her eyes should have been able to see the Mark, see its green light cracking through her palm, but they saw nothing. 

She screamed. There was no sound.

The black was devouring her, smothering her. And Julienne...there would be nothing left if she didn’t -

Light broke through her eyelids and suddenly she felt ground under her knees and hands. Shielding her eyes, she slowly came to her knees, clutching at Julienne to make sure she was safe. Dorian was above her, yelling something, but she couldn’t understand him.

There was the sound of a door crashing open. Another man was shouting. Legs appeared, standing in front of her. Then Dorian was fighting the newcomer. _Help him, he needs your help_.

Anne’s left hand grabbed her bow while her right reached for an arrow. The other man was already losing, she just needed one good shot…

He tangled around her arrow as he fell.

They were in a small, flooded room. Anne stood to take it in. She still had her bow, arrow, and baselard. Dorian was speaking, but all she could hear was a discordant jangling in her ears. Turning around, Anne came face-to-face with a giant hunk of red lyrium.

Instinctively, her body backed up.

“- brings new meaning to mood lighting.” He pointed the lyrium growing out of the wall and made to touch it.

“No!” Anne shouted. Dorian withdrew his hand like he’d been scalded.

“Varric said don’t touch it,” she whispered. She touched a hand to her mouth - even the air tasted wrong, like the rancid blackness was still alive here. She swallowed thickly. “Where are we?”

Dorian shook his head. “Blowed if I know,” he said with forced joviality. “Glad to see you back with us though.”

Even now, his voice still sounded distant. It was like the air wasn’t carrying it correctly, _or the way I remember air carrying sound_. A cold shiver ran through Anne as her back touched the wall. She realized she had still been backing up.

“Do you feel…?”

Dorian frowned at her, but nodded. “Yes.”

 _But not like I do_. _His voice is too calm, his gut isn’t twisting_. She watched his eyes. They weren’t searching, trying to prove they were really there.

She swallowed another gulp of tainted air. “Last I remember, we were in the castle and there was a rift?”

Dorian nodded, starting to pace. “We’ve been displaced,” he murmured. “Alexius meant to kill you, to unmake you, but instead he moved us.”

 _Moved?_ “Where?”

“I am working on that,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Don’t rush my proce…” Dorian stopped mid-step, looking to her with huge eyes.

“I don’t think we ever left the castle...I think we left that time.”

Any color left in Anne’s face fled. _“Time?”_

“Yes, yes.” He was pacing again. “It all makes sense. We were displaced, rather than removed. We’re still in the castle. Now we just need to figure out when.”

Alexius had been playing with time magic, Anne remembered that. _But to displace us in time?_

“Are you sure?” she breathed.

 _It’s not real, it can’t be real_. _No one could do this._ The begging in her mind couldn’t drown out the singing emanating from the corner, couldn’t change the feeling that the red here burned brighter, louder. _That this world isn’t right_.

Dorian flashed her his brightest smile. “I am, but the only way we’ll know for sure is if we ask someone.”

“A different time…”

She didn’t realize she had said it out loud until Dorian said, “Yes, do keep up.” He moved toward their only door and sighed. “Nothing else for it, we need to move and figure out when we are.” He looked down at her hand with a cocked eyebrow. “Are you going to turn that, or do just like holding it?”

Anne followed his eyeline down her left hand and saw it grasping the doorknob. _How long has it been hovering there?_

Looking at her marked hand changed everything. The heavy air, the red song, all of it was flowing through her hand into her body. It ached, as though it wanted to swallow the world. Somehow it felt empty, deadened, even with its increased sensitivity. _The Mark is a door. Before it was shut, now it’s blown open._

She dropped her hand and Dorian opened the door just a crack. He peered out, then nodded. Slowly they eased out of the room, clinging to the darkest wall. It was also the wall with the most red lyrium, and Anne’s jaw tightened at its nearness. As they came to a corner, Dorian stopped her, then cautiously peered both ways down the corridor.

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are,” grumbled a voice.

 _It can’t be_ … “Bull?”

“Boss?” It was so faint, it almost didn’t carry. Caution died and she flew down the corridor to stand in front of a cell.

It was a piteous sight. The muscle and fat had separated from his body and hung from his enormous frame. His horns had been shorn, and his eyepatch was gone. She had never seen the gruesome wreckage of the socket before. And his other eye...his other eye was as red as the lyrium in his cell. His face looked so empty now.

“Oh _Bull._ ” She reached to take his hands in hers and immediately dropped them. The cacophonous song was louder, it was _in_ him.

Dorian came up behind her and Bull snarled.

“Get away from her, Vint,” he croaked. It might have been a yell, a lifetime ago. What it lacked in voice it made up for in red. The noise of the red rang out of him, taking the air out of Anne’s lungs. _Comfort him, don’t let it eat him_. Anne made a soft shushing sound.

“Someone has to protect her backside, since your side put her in ill-fitting armor,” Dorian replied archly. He moved to the cell door and flippantly put his hand over the lock. “I’m assuming you want out?”

Bull grunted a disgusted but assenting noise. There was a shimmer under Dorian’s hand. _He’s weaving a spell_. It was as if Anne were watching him embroider. Magic was lacing through the lock, then back to Dorian, as if to knit them closer. _To give his will form_.

The sound as the magic released was so pure and soft that it almost drowned the clanging of the red. A small sigh escaped her. _It feels like how Max used to hold me._

Dorian swung the door open, looking perfectly pleased with himself. “Could you tell us what year it is?”

“9:42 Dragon,” Bull replied, confused.

“Then it’s only been a year.” Anne looked up, a faint echo of hope on her face.

Bull slowly drew himself up with the help of his cell bars. It took a moment for Anne to understand why he was struggling - his feet were shackled.

“I could take care of those, too,” Dorian offered, pointing to the chain.

But Bull shook his head. “No - no magic. I want to do this myself.”

“We don’t have _time_ \- ”

But Anne was already going back to the dead soldier for his greatsword. When she returned, the two were regarding each other with open hostility.

Bull didn’t take his good eye off Dorian, even as he accepted the sword. He sat heavily against the wall, next to a large collection of tally marks scratched into the wall. Anne felt her hand run over the neat little marks. There had to be hundreds. He saw her looking at the marks and gave an unsettling smile. “Had to keep my nails trimmed,” he said.

But it was more than that. _This is how he knows what year it is_.

Anne moved outside the cell as Bull brought the sword over his head. If the chains weren’t so rusted the sword would never have worked, but it cut through with a loud _clang_. Hearing it set Anne’s teeth on edge. _Why does nothing here sound right?_

Bull stretched his legs for the first time in Maker knew how long. If the rumbling sound from his chest was any indication it felt good, though none of it showed on his face. “Solas is still around here, somewhere. I heard the guards talking about him yesterday,” he said.

“And the others?” Dorian asked as he stepped over the cell’s threshold.

Bull shook his head. “I haven’t heard about either of them in months.”

There was a sinking feeling deep in Anne’s gut. “What about the Chargers? Josephine? Leliana?”

He shook his head again. Anne wanted to reach up and touch where his horns had been. There were sword marks ridging the pointed nubs. They had clearly been hacked off.

“Did that hurt?” Dorian asked.

Bull turned and stood to his fullest height over the smaller mage. “ _Everything_ here hurts,” he growled, the red in him blazing. _Stop it, don’t let it take him_.

“We need to find our people,” Anne said, moving to stand between them. “We need to decide our next move.”

“If,” Dorian said emphatically, “we can get the amulet Alexius used, we might be able to get back to our time.”

That sounded to Anne like the opposite of a solution. “But we’re here because someone already played with time.”

Dorian shrugged. “It’s a guess, but I think we’re in a loop. It would take us back to the last time there was such magical energy in the castle.”

“But we would be unmaking a wor - ”

“Do it,” Bull interrupted. “Do it and don’t let this happen.”

Anne stared at him, Bull never advocated magical solutions. “But - ”

“You don’t know what it’s like now,” he interrupted firmly. “You’re here and you’re whole and healthy, but the Veil has a world-sized hole in it now. It’s been a nightmare. Anything is better than this.”

Even as Anne’s mind flooded her with denial, she knew it was true. Her hand was conducting power like a tree being struck by lightning over and over. There was no other explanation. _The Veil is gone_.

Dorian, too, seemed deeply unsettled. If he’d had any guess that something was wrong before, it was confirmed now.

“We need to talk to Solas,” Bull said.

“Whatever for? What can some vagrant apostate tell you that I can’t?” Dorian asked, offended.

Anne glanced at him uneasily. There was no reason not to trust Dorian, and yet she didn’t. Not completely. So she chose not to answer, and instead follow Bull.

They stopped at the four-way intersection. “That way is where they take us for friendly chats,” Bull said, pointing the opposite way they had come. “But there are more cells that way.” He pointed down the other end of the corridor.

They walked down to a door, then another. The red lyrium permeated every wall. It seemed to flourish in dank corners, like where the wall met the floor. Each shard sang its own dissonant note, making a grating, cruel song. _Turn around, flee._

They reached a door with bars on it and as Bull pushed it open, he shoved Dorian in front. The mage turned to glare at him. “No guards,” he said angrily. “Not that I think you’d care.”

Bull shrugged. “She’s worth more than you.”

“Not if you want her to get back!”

But Anne wasn’t paying attention, instead rushing from cell to cell. She found him, curled on his side in the last cell of the room, his body clinging to the one wall with no red. “Solas?” she asked, gesturing for Dorian to come over and unlock the gate.

If Bull was atrophied, Solas was skeletal. He had been so lean before that there wasn’t much to waste away. He looked up at her with those same red eyes Bull had. “You - you’re alive?”

“Yeah,” Bull said, coming into the cell to help the elf up.

Solas gave him a rueful smile. “Last I saw you, you had horns. You should have stopped sassing when you were ahead.”

Bull gave him a weak laugh. “I don’t remember you stopping either.”

Dorian looked confused. “Were they keeping you together?”

Solas shook his head. “No, but they were torturing us together for a while.”

At the word ‘torturing’, Anne’s mind went blank. _“What?”_

Bull wasn’t looking her in the eye.

“Who has been torturing you?” Anne demanded.

Solas stared at her, perplexed. “Agents of the Elder One.”

Anne couldn’t understand his confusion until Dorian volunteered, “We were displaced by Alexius’s magic. It’s only been minutes since we were in the throne room together for us.”

Solas mulled that over. “Perhaps we can use the amulet to return you, then.”

Dorian made an exasperated, wild gesture with arms, as if to say ‘ _see?_ ’. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

Solas ignored him. “Then we make for Alexius.”

“What about Blackwall?” Anne interjected.

A soft look came over Solas’s harsh features, a kind of sorrow. “I believe he is in the next room.”

“Believe?” Bull repeated.

Solas nodded. “I have not seen in him in at least a month.”

Anne’s stomach tightened as she opened the door, there was a sound faintly beating on the other side. It was the last room of the corridor, with two cells. The beating grew stronger as she entered, coming from her left. Anne’s body turned to the sound and fear drowned her.

There, in a small cell, was Fiona, her body impaled on an enormous piece of red.

The beating… Anne’s good hand went to her heart. It was the sound of Fiona’s lifeless body, feeding the red.

Her body was already trying to take her back out of the room. Bull was trying to stop her, but she couldn’t let him touch her, not with that red in him. _It hurts too much._

“I know,” he whispered. She must have said it aloud. Bull held his hands up to show he wasn’t going to touch her and instead pointed to the cell on the right. “But he’s still alive.”

Solas was already rousing the man on the floor. Anne slowly moved toward him. Out of everyone, the red was loudest in him.

“Have you come to take me to the Maker’s side?” Blackwall gasped, looking at her.

She found herself clutching at his cell bars. “No, we’ve come to free you.” His eyebrows came together, and Anne stood back so he could see the others.

“She and Dorian didn’t die,” Solas explained. “They travelled through time.”

Bull nodded. “We’re going to take the throne room and fix this.”

“We’re going to undo this timeline, Blackwall,” Solas said gently. “We’ll make it like it never happened.”

Blackwall’s glassy eyes changed slightly. Something like hope was creeping into them. He stood slowly, leaning heavily on Dorian.

They made their way slowly through the castle, Anne at the back of the group. At the first sign of a fight, Solas pulled the bow off her back. “Keep out of sight. I’m less valuable.” Before she could even ask if he knew how to use the bow, he turned the corner with Bull and Dorian to start the skirmish.

The whole castle was riddled with the red, and every room had its own song. There was no way to get used to it, to ignore it. There was only red and pain and red.

Anne couldn’t understand how this had all happened. It had only been a year, but everything was so changed. It was strange to see Solas showing camaraderie, to see Bull unfocused, to see a world that they were going to deliberately unmake.

As they came up to a last flight of stairs, Bull stopped them. “That way is the throne room, and the torture chamber. If they’ve got any of us, they’ll be there.”

Anne didn’t have to guess which room he meant.

As they ascended, voices carried down to them. It was so faint at first Anne thought it was the red affecting her, but as they came to the last flight, the words became more distinct.

_“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter...”_

A laugh boomed out. “Blood of the Elder One, you never learn, do you?”

 _“Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the j -”_ Rutherford’s prayer was cut short as it turned into a scream.

Anne started to push forward, but Bull shoved her back.

From above she heard a _“what the”_ and then the sounds of a scuffle. Anne hated this feeling. She had never been forced out of a fight before. _It should be me, I should be helping them_ , she thought. One hand gripped tightly around Julienne, the other went to her baselard, as she tried to remember why she wasn’t fighting with them.

She didn’t have to wait long. “All clear, Boss.”

As she crested the final stair, there was a scream. Anne looked up to see Solas, Bull, and Blackwall lunging to hold Rutherford back as he raised his sword to attack her. _“Not again, demon!”_

Anne looked between the men in confusion.

“Hey,” Bull was saying in his ear, “look at her. Was she pregnant when the demons came?”

Rutherford was still trying to fight them off, even as he took in Anne’s appearance, but then his arms slowed and he stopped. “No...the demons always held a baby.”

Anne drew level with the men slowly. It was hard to say who looked the worst, but Rutherford was certainly in the running. His muscles were shriveled, as was his once handsome face. Pock marks, scars, and shallow, open wounds riddled his face and body. The red was in every pore, in every tiny cut.

They were all filled with it, and she wasn’t even sure they knew it. All this, because she thought the mages needed protection more than their army needed Templars. Shame filled her, and when she looked back up at them, there were tears in her eyes. “I am so sorry I did this,” she whispered. “I should have - I shouldn’t have - ”

“No.”

Rutherford was stepping forward, shaking his head. “We can’t change it, so we - ”

“Actually,” Dorian said, with more flair than usual, “yes, we can. If I can get that amulet, I should be able to return us.”

Rutherford’s head snapped toward him. “Return to what?”

“Back to when Alexius hurdled us through time.”

The Commander took that in, then turned back to Anne, a fire in his eyes. “When you get back, you have to tell the others two things: One, there was a plot to kill Empress Celene. It succeeded. Two, the Elder One raised a demon army.”

“But who is the Elder One?” Dorian asked. Rutherford ignored him and made Anne repeat the list twice before he looked to the mage.

“We don’t know his name,” said Solas.

Rutherford shook his head. “I heard them talking maybe a month ago. They said the name ‘Corypheus’.”

Everyone looked to Dorian, who shrugged. “Sounds Tevinter, but damned if I ever heard of him.”

There was a ripple of disappointment, but it was time to move. There couldn’t be much time left until an alarm was raised. Solas returned Anne's bow and arrows as he and the others armed, with weapons from the torture chamber, crept further into the castle.

The upper floors of the castle were eerily quiet, they didn’t meet a single guard. Even the red seemed to whisper insidiously rather than shout.

When they came upon the entrance to the throne room, they found a new door had replaced the old one. It glowed faintly in the torchlight. Solas and Dorian stepped forward, and Dorian ghosted his hand over the lock.

“I know this magic,” Dorian said. “This...Alexius was never this paranoid before.” Stepping back, he looked at Solas. “Together?”

The elf nodded, and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder. What they cast, Anne couldn’t guess, but there was a flash of nasty yellow light, a feeling almost like skinning her knee, and the door opened. As she entered, Anne nocked an arrow to her bow.

The room was almost completely dark, except for two torches by the throne. No red sang in it. The air was still foul though, _a reminder that this world is wrong_. At first Anne couldn’t see anything, but there was something glittering at the front of the room. Peering closely, she saw Alexius sat on the throne, looking unsurprised. She carefully moved so that she had a clear shot of him, Rutherford following with her.

“It’s time to surrender, Alexius,” Dorian said, stepping out of the group.

The Magister heaved a sigh. “I knew I hadn’t destroyed you…not that it matters now.”

Dorian sputtered then came forward and slapped Alexius across the face. “How could you? How could you do this to the world? Was it worth it?”

Alexius huddled in his throne and shook his head. “I failed, and now He comes for us all.”

Something about the way he said ‘he’ made Anne scared - he couldn’t mean…

“Who? Corypheus? Is that who you sold us all out to?” Dorian asked, standing menacingly over Alexius.

“Dorian,” said a weak voice, and everyone turned to see a shrunken, wraith-like figure. Felix was emerging from the shadows, though he could barely hold himself upright. Dorian dropped his staff in his rush to help him, carefully keeping him steady.

“Did you think you were so stealthy?” Alexius asked, laughing humorlessly. “He is coming, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.”

“We can stop this - we can fix this,” Solas said. “Give us the amulet and we will undo all of this.”

“Give it...” Felix rasped. “Please.”

Alexius shook his head. “I have tried to go back before the Conclave, to before you were infected. You know we cannot change this.”

“The Breach,” Felix said, but each word was like a gasp. “It makes the magic...possible. Go...to the night…you disappeared.” His chest was heaving now with each breath.

Alexius turned to his son, and Anne finally understood. All this wreckage and pain, he had done it all for his son. The selfish fool had ruined the entire world for his son.

“You’ll die,” Aleixus cried, reaching out for him, but Felix flinched away.

“Not before you, if you don’t hand over that amulet,” Bull challenged.

Everyone was pressing forward now, except Rutherford, who was holding Anne back.

“Alexius,” Dorian pleaded, looking from the son to the father. “Don’t do this, please.”

There was a rumbling overhead and the shrill sound of demons shrieking.

Alexius looked up, tears now running down his face. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

He raised his hands, a spell clearly forming. Dorian grabbed for his staff, but he wouldn’t reach it in time. Anne’s heart caught in her throat and she loosed her arrow.

There was a crunch of movement dying. Alexius’s magic was holding the arrow in midair. It felt the time Anne had knocked over her mother’s mirror and was watching it fall.

With a cruel smile and a small gesture, he twisted the arrow towards Anne and let it fly. The mirror shattered in her mind just as there was a push and a scream of red next to her. Rutherford fell back on her just as blood erupted from Alexius’s head.

Alexius went down like a stone, revealing Bull behind him, smiling grimly.

 _“No!”_ Felix rasped as Dorian gasped and Anne whispered the same in Rutherford’s ear. He was stumbling back into her, breathing heavily, her arrow blossoming red in his left shoulder.

Rutherford gritted his teeth and stopped reeling backwards. “I’ll be fine,” he growled. “It missed the important places.”

Bull picked up the bloodied amulet from the stump that used to be Alexius’s head. “Do it,” he said, shoving into Dorian’s chest.

For a moment, he only stared blankly, his clothes smeared with his mentor’s blood. Then his arm slowly reached up. Dorian took the amulet and nodded once.

There was another rumble, then a crash.

Bull, Solas, Blackwall, and Rutherford exchanged looks, then moved for the door.

“We’ll buy you time. Just fix this,” Bull said, moving towards the door.

Blackwall stopped as he passed Anne, then started fumbling with the laces of his own jupon. “Here, my lady,” he said, giving her his garment. “You need it more than I.” He held it open so she could slip it on like a coat.

Anne could only stare. “No,” she said, “ _no_ , there must be another way.” _Any other way..._

“Someone should stay,” Dorian said. “I won’t be able to protect her once the spell starts.”

The men looked amongst each other, and then the Commander nodded. “I will.”

As the men turned away, Dorian started muttering and conferring with Felix. But Anne couldn’t let them go. Before Rutherford could stop her, she raced forward and grabbed Bull in a fierce hug. He looked shocked, then hugged her back. Anne hugged them all, not realizing tears were streaming down her face.

“Horns up,” she whispered.

Bull have her a grim smile and nodded. “Horns up.”

There was another crash, and Rutherford pulled her back. Anne jumped at the contact with the red, but let him lead her away. With a last look, Solas, Bull, and Blackwall left.

“Anne,” Rutherford said, leaning down to check on her. “I need you to focus, are you with me?”

She looked up at him slowly, loss settling heavily in her gut. But she nodded. She could push it down, _I can do this._

“I need you to snap the arrow for me.”

 _I can’t do this_.

Her thoughts must have been plain on her face, because Rutherford leaned closer. “I have to able to fight and it will just get in the way. If we take it out, I could pass out from blood loss. I need you to break it.”

Behind them, Anne could feel the spell Dorian was weaving. It was so much more complex than the simple spells he had been performing. She could feel it entwining through her marked hand, flooding her arm, criss-crossing as it entered her chest and belly and neck. Her head drifted to the side, as if to relax on Max’s shoulder. It felt so meticulous, so elegant, _I feel its design_.

The magic and the emotions filled her to the brim, and she suddenly felt like there was nothing of her left. She shook her head violently, she couldn’t do this.

Rutherford gripped her arms, and the dissonant song burst into her head louder than ever. She backed away.

“Anne, breathe,” he whispered, holding his hands up as if to surrender. “Just breathe.”

She did as she was ordered. Slowly he moved closer, so that they were not even a foot apart. Anne couldn’t remember ever being this close to him before. He pointed from her left hand to the base of the arrow. Anne’s hand followed his, wrapping into a fist against his shoulder. It was hot and wet from his blood, she could taste the red in her mouth. He nodded encouragingly, then pointed at her right hand and farther along the shaft.

“Break it,” he whispered.

Her hands tightened on the wood. The fletching was in her face, tickling her nose. She snapped the arrow, and something in her, something that had been holding the world at bay, snapped with it. This world was real, and they were going to end it.

“Good,” Cullen whispered over and over. “Good.” She felt boneless. He was guiding her back to Dorian, carefully avoiding touching her. “Do not fail us,” he told Dorian, then walked back down the steps.

Outside the room there was a shout - Bull’s battlecry - and then the sounds of fighting. “Behind him,” Felix croaked, brushing her shoulder, as if to push her back. This time Anne barely felt the red in him, even though she could hear it singing.

The sounds of demons shrieking filled the hall, and Anne could feel it in her teeth. There was a scream, and she couldn’t tell whose. She moved to unsling her bow - she had to do something - but Felix’s hand gently clasped hers and held it to Dorian’s. He shook his head once, his sunken eyes full of regret.

A bright green light filled the room and Felix stepped away from them. Dorian was opening a rift. Anne felt a thrill of victory, but then the doors burst open.

She could see the bodies of her men, covered with blood and ichor. A scream tore at her throat, but it never left it.

The Commander moved, and for the first time Anne saw him in battle. Now she understood why he was called the lion of Ferelden by his men. His lack of armor didn’t stop him from walking forward and meeting the demons. He slashed and cut and parried as though he were still a healthy man.

Until a sword caught him through his injured shoulder.

Anne tried to leap forward, but Dorian held her fast. “You move, and we all die,” he yelled in her ear.

Anne could only watch helplessly as Rutherford pulled away, then came crashing back for another attack. This time a fear demon caught him by the sword arm. It was bending the limb backward.

There was the sound of bone being crushed, and Rutherford’s arm dropped his sword.

“No,” Anne whispered. Dorian was pulling her closer, trying to keep her next to the portal as he poured magic into it.

Another demon slashed Rutherford across the middle and he screamed, just as Dorian gave a triumphant shout.

 _No, no, no, no,_ no.

Anne’s eyes locked with Rutherford’s as the fear demon wrapped both its hands around his head and _twisted_.

They were all dead, they were all gone.

This had to work, it needed to work, _it has t-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, there isn't enough thanks in the world for my beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare). Last night I decided to completely rewrite this chapter, and she has been amazing over the past 24 hours. Her patience and instincts are fantastic, and I am so grateful.


	19. Aftermath

Anne felt the world falling away as the black enveloped her, her prayers and fears pressing in on her. If Dorian was there with her, she could not tell. There was nothing, only raw chaos. Was this what the Maker used to shape the world? Was this the Void? Or worse yet, the Fade?

But this time the black was less dense. It was as though it was releasing her, instead of trying to will her away. The black was separating from her skin, slipping away. She was swimming with the tide now.

The mark on her hand flared to life, she could see the green light pulling her. She couldn’t tell which direction it was taking her, but the black was still sloughing off her, and that had to be right. There were voices somewhere. She could hear confused shouting.

Abruptly, light crashed into her world and her fist closed.

Dorian’s rift was gone. That world was gone. They were back in the throne room, like they had never left.

“No,” breathed Alexius.

Anne’s hand went to her baselard. It was drawn and pointed at his throat before he could say another word. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t even skillful. Bull had taught her never to go for the throat when face-to-face. But Anne was beyond that. There was nothing but righteous rage pounding through her.

“Surrender now,” Dorian commanded before anyone else could move. Anne caught a tinge of fear in his voice. It was the most naked emotion she had seen him display. _He doesn’t want Alexius to die again_ , she realized.

Alexius looked to his son, tears in his eyes. “You’ll die,” he whispered.

“Everyone has to die, father,” he said softly. “Let us die with honor.”

Alexius’s face crumbled, and he reached for his son. Anne felt the knife follow him, pushing the edge just deep enough for blood.  The Magister’s look changed to injured pride. “I surrender,” he growled at her. “I surrender.”

Everyone’s eyes were on her and her baselard, but Anne couldn’t put it down. He had as good as killed everyone in that throne room, as good as killed the world. He had sold them all out for his child.

“You couldn’t save him,” she snarled. _Bull’s shorn horns._ “He was almost dead in your future.” _Blackwall’s jupon._ “Corypheus couldn’t save him.” _Rutherford’s body separating from his head_. “And you can’t either.”

Her baselard went a hair deeper, and Dorian’s arm was now on hers. “Anne,” he pleaded. His dark eyes were begging.

Her jaw tightened. Alexius didn’t deserve to live. He didn’t.

“Not like this,” said a quiet voice. Rutherford was next to her. “Not here.”

Anne looked into his face - his eyes full of the life that had been snuffed out. “For what he did…”

“I know,” he agreed, as if he understood. His hand wrapped around hers on the hilt. “I know, but not like this.”

Slowly they brought the knife down. Her grip was tighter than ever, but slowly she was coming back. Coming back to this world. Coming back to this reality.

“Bull, take his amulet,” she ordered unevenly. The Qunari came forward and snatched it from Alexius.

“You’re not worth it,” she whispered. And then she did something she hadn’t done since she was ten and playing with the villein boys. She spat on the Magister.

“We’re leaving,” she announced.

“Wait!” Fiona emerged from behind a pillar. “What about my people?”

 _Fool woman._ Anne could still see her body hunched over the red lyrium, and it still didn’t feel like enough. A dark look passed over her face. Anne wanted to punish her, to punish them all.

“Fiona, you and your Magister must surrender to the Inquisition,” she heard her voice saying. “You will be judged and made to pay for your crimes.”

Fiona’s face fell, but she nodded resolutely. “And my mages?”

“They will close the Breach for us,” Rutherford said curtly.

It was more than she deserved. It was more than any of them deserved. “They are now indentured to the Inquisition,” she stated.

If they wanted anything else from her, it would have to wait. Anne was done.

No one said a word as they made their way out of Redcliffe and up to the Chargers’ camp. Josephine and Leliana sat waiting for them at the fire. Anne couldn’t bear to look at them though. Who knew how they had suffered in the other timeline?

There was a rumble of thunder above and Anne cowered. It was too similar to the sound of the demons arriving. Her feet carried her quickly into the campaign tent, and she sat heavily in a chair, her head in her hands. All she could see when she shut her eyes were bodies and demons and red everywhere. As a sob escaped her, a hand appeared next to her head. She looked up and Dorian was offering his handkerchief. Anne couldn’t help but notice it was already wet.

The small kindness felt like too much, and she started truly crying. She couldn’t think. She had been hollowed out, and now only memories remained.

Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore that the tent was filling up with the Inquisition. Everyone who had been in the hall, as well as Josephine and Leliana, was hovering.

Something like shame was coming over her. She knew she shouldn’t be seen like this. Bull came over and rested a hand on her shoulder. Touch was steadying. Anne looked up at him and felt her breath catch.

“Breathe,” Bull said quietly. “Only when you’re ready.”

Anne nodded, her hand reaching up to hold his. _Breathe, breathe, breathe_ , she told herself. It was the easiest way to keep herself going. Slowly her breath came back under control. After a long minute her tears stopped and she let go of Bull’s hand.

With a last squeeze, he looked from her to Dorian. “So what the fuck just happened?”

* * *

 After they had finished answering questions, and Anne had repeated Rutherford’s warning, the tent slowly cleared out.

It had started to rain, the drops making heavy noises on the tent roof. She had always loved storms, but now the booming thunder was more than she could take. Every time it cracked overhead, she shook slightly.

She still sat in the chair, but now she was watching a large taper on the table burn. She wanted the light to burn into her eyes, burn into her soul, chase away the red and black. The flame felt pure - it either existed or it didn’t and there was no second guessing it.

“I want to tell you it gets easier,” a voice said. “But I would be lying.”

Anne didn’t look up at the Commander. She was in no mood for opinions or scoldings.

There was a sound of a chair being dragged and Rutherford sat down next to her. “That healer - Stitches? He said to give you this.” He placed a bottle next to the candle. “It’ll give you a dreamless sleep.”

Anne reached out and downed it in one.

But Rutherford was still there, watching her.

“You don’t want to be alone right now. It’ll only make it worse,” he said, as if feeling her confusion.

“Oh what would you know about it?” Anne snapped, still staring at the light.

There was the sound of a serrated sigh, then he said, “Have you ever heard of Kinloch Hold?”

“No.”

“It was Ferelden’s Circle, before it fell,” he explained. “It was my first Templar post.”

That Anne had heard about, even in the far flung Marches. Blood mages had taken the tower over, letting it become overrun with demons. Her eyes finally left the candle to look at her Commander. “You were there?”

He nodded slowly, his mouth a grim line. “There was a magic cage. The others...they either made it out before or they died.”

It dawned on her he had endured the same thing she had. A magic cage, to keep him trapped in that reality. But there had been no magic amulet, no way to undo the damage. The dead had stayed dead and he had had to soldier on.

Her voice was so small, she barely heard her own words. “How do I do this?”

His amber eyes softened, and it completely changed his face. The harsh lines were now gentle slopes. He had never looked at her with such compassion. Anne had a sense that if he could take it all away from her, he would. “You just do,” he replied heavily. “But don’t close it off, don’t keep it in. It will only eat away at you, if you do.”

Anne swallowed thickly, her eyes filling with tears again.

Rutherford gave her a wan smile. “And always take the potions for a dreamless sleep.”

That, at least, was easy enough. Anne looked out to see Dalish keeping watch over the camp and remembered her first few days with the Chargers. Those days when she could barely keep up, she was so exhausted. It had been about keeping her feet going - right foot, left foot, right foot. Her eyes shut, letting her tears fall. _Let me be the vessel_ , she had prayed. She had prayed to be able to walk this path and the Maker was with her. He had guided her through the darkness and she had returned with Julienne, whole and safe.

When she opened her eyes, there were no more tears. Her face had hardened into resolve. Rutherford nodded kindly, understanding. “I can bring your bedroll in here, if you prefer.”

“Please.”

He was about to leave when she stopped him. Anne shrugged out of Blackwall’s tattered jupon, refusing to look at it. “Burn this.”

He stood and put a hand on her shoulder, just like Bull had. “We’re all here for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barely getting it under the deadline!
> 
> I would say I'm sorry for posting late, but I'm actually super proud I got this up at all. This week was a nightmare, health wise.
> 
> Thank you again to [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare) for her tireless work.
> 
> Come fangirl with me on [Tumblr](http://xmedea.tumblr.com/)!


	20. In Ignorance Stumbling

Anne continued to take the potion every night on the journey back to Haven. She couldn’t face the nightmares waiting for her when she slept. Everyone did their best to comfort her, but only Dorian understood. Anne wondered if this was what the mages felt like every night - so connected to a world that didn’t exist. Dorian told her that at least you could boff in the Fade.

As they approached Haven, the call went up that the Herald had returned. There was the same fanfare as when she and the Chargers had returned from the Hinterlands, but Anne couldn’t enjoy it. Outwardly, she was all smiles for the smallfolk, but she took little joy in their attentions.

When the canton had settled somewhat, Anne went to see her midwife. Maude Mor stood bent over her cane at the door, watching Anne with her mismatched eyes.

“Thought you’d be in today, girl,” she groaned. “Get in, get in.”

Anne was surprised to see Tol in the cabin, instead of out with the Chancellor. He gave her a guilty smile as she came in. Maude sat Anne at the table, barking out for Tol to pour some tea.

“Before we start,” Maude said, “Tol has something he needs to tell you.”

Anne looked back at the boy boiling water over the fire, he looked as though he had been caught stealing a pie from a windowsill. He came to stand next to the table, head hung.

“I heard Chancellor Roderick talking to the soldiers a week ago, milady.” He shifted uncomfortably, looking at his grandmother. “He was saying some things.”

Maude raised an eyebrow, now glaring at the boy.

“Some bad things,” he corrected.

Anne wanted to reach out and hug him, he looked so upset. It gave her a little spark of pride, the growing maternal sentiments she was feeling. Ruffling his hair gently, she said, “You can tell me, whatever it is.”

“Well, the soldiers were saying some nasty things about you...and the Chancellor didn’t stop them.”

Maude sighed and took over. “He’s got the soldiers calling you ‘the Ansburg Mare’.”

Anne’s stomach dropped at the name. It had always been abundantly clear that she was no fair maiden. Nobody had ever really flirted with her, or given her side glances when they thought she wasn’t looking. No one had ever asked for her token at a Wintersend tourney; in fact, the first person to ask her to dance was Max. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Tol, go collect some firewood.”

“But - ”

“Go,” Maude repeated sharply.

The boy gave Anne one last look, muttered a ‘sorry, milady’ under his breath, then ran outside.

Maude watched him go, then groaned to her feet.

“The Chantry’s done good for us, but I won’t have Tol near that man,” Maude said, taking over the tea. Maybe it was a trick of the shadows, but the crone almost looked sympathetic.

“Never mind that nug shit.” Maude bustled over the kettle and poured Anne a cup. “Drink your tea, girl, then to business.”

Anne was quiet for the rest of the visit, unable to get the Chancellor out of her head. It wasn’t the first time she had been compared to an animal. It wasn’t even the first time she had been compared to a horse. She had been a sow for her weight, a frog for her eyes, and most recently, Max’s maiden aunt had said wide hips like hers meant she would ‘make a good broodmare’. Anne knew she hadn’t achieved universal popularity, least of all with Roderick, but still she was almost in tears.

After a discussion of Maude’s compensation for travelling with Anne back to Ostwick, she stepped back out into the night. Tol sauntered passed her to go back in the cabin, his face streaked with dirt and tears. Anne gave him a sympathetic smile and shivered. The heat that had pervaded the summer had dried up while on the road, and Harvestmere was truly upon them. Anne tried to wrap herself deeper into her cloak, but it was from before Julienne and now couldn’t accommodate her. Then again, Julienne was exactly leaving much room for Anne in her own body. It was now taking Anne an embarrassing amount of time to get anywhere.

The night patrol was about to head out, and as Anne passed them, her face burned with shame. Were they calling her the Ansburg Mare too? Did they all joke about their ugly Herald in the tavern? For all that she was chosen by the Maker, and that should be enough for her, Anne couldn’t hold her head high.

She was the last one to the war chamber. Josephine and Leliana sat on the far side of the table, trading documents, while Rutherford stood over the map, looking at troop movements. Dorian stood next to the doorframe, looking worried, yet somehow still arch. Anne would have to ask him how he learnt that trick.

Anne shuffled into a chair in the far corner, trying to make herself as small as possible. She almost missed the scouting look Dorian cast over the nave before he shut the door and came to stand at the table.

“Sister Nightingale, how much do you know about the Iron Bull?”

Leliana didn’t look up from her tea. “As much as I know about you.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows, looking around the table. Clearly he knew a non-answer when he heard one. “He is a threat. I watched you on the road, you are not taking him seriously enough.”

Leliana smirked and traded papers with Josephine, still not looking at him.

“He’s _Ben-Hassrath_ ,” Dorian spat.

There was that word again. “Say what you mean, Dorian,” Anne said from her chair.

“He is a spy and an assassin - you cannot tru-”

“He’s _what?”_ Anne’s spine had gone rigid.

Dorian stood straighter, as if validated by Anne’s confusion. “He’s a spy for the Qun - his first duty will always be to the Qun.”

Anne looked around the rest of the council - none of them looked surprised. “Did you know about this?” she demanded.

Leliana finally looked up to stare at Anne. “Of course. He told us when we hired the Chargers.”

Dorian’s crowing face fell as he paled. “You _know_? You’ve known all this time, and you trust him?”

Leliana stood, placing her hands firmly on the table to lean over to Dorian. “Very little escapes our notice, least of all spies who tell us they are spies.”

The mage sputtered, his dandy demeanor gone. “But - ”

“I think it’s best you left,” Rutherford said to Dorian, watching Anne. One hand was clutching Julienne, the other was over her mouth. She had never known, had never considered, Bull’s true affiliation.

Dorian looked to the other councillors, the rest of whom stared back stonily at him. Pursing his lips, he threw up his hands and muttered, “ _Southerners,_ ” as he opened the door dramatically.

Anne waited until the door was shut again before she hissed, “How could you not tell me?”

She stood awkwardly, wanting to cut a dark, angry figure. Wanting them to be afraid of her fury. “I have kept nothing from him. If this has endangered the Inquisition, or Julienne, I will - I will -”

She couldn’t think of anything terrible enough to threaten them with.

“He told us at the beginning, he’s never made a secret of it,” Leliana said calmly. “I read everything he sends to his superiors.”

That was true, Bull had always said he was...whatever that word was.  

“It must have fallen through the cracks,” Josephine offered, standing to take Anne’s hand. Anne didn’t let her. “At the beginning we were doing so much....”

Anne’s jaw worked and worked as she wrestled with her anger. Six months ago she would never have said she had a temper. She thought it had been bred out of her. But here she was, holding back a tantrum to make a child blush.

“It must have slipped while we were trying to get you ready for the field,” Leliana finished for her.

“Ready for the field? You pushed me into the field the same day I was widowed,” Anne snapped.

She felt the last string tamping her anger break, and before she could stop herself, the question was out. “When you sent me to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, did you know I was pregnant?”

Josephine and Rutherford’s eyes dropped. Only Leliana met her stare for stare.

_“Did you know?”_

“Yes,” Rutherford admitted, his eyes shut.

There was remorse plain on his face, and Josephine’s too. But of course not on Leliana’s. Never on their spymaster’s face. _She doesn’t even know the meaning of the word_ , Anne thought.

“We had no choice, my Lady,” Josephine whispered.

“We needed to know if you could close the Breach,” Leliana stated. “And we couldn’t be sure that you were not Corypheus’s agent.”

Anne’s eyes went to the shared wall between this room and her own. Tess would be on the other side, sewing for the Inquisition, readying her room. “Don’t pretend you had no choice,” she snapped. “You interrogated my people. You interrogated me. You knew I wasn’t a threat. And you could have told me I was pregnant. You could have told me Max was dead.” Her voice cracked on his name. “But instead you sent me up that mountain without a weapon and no armor. I have done everything, I am the Herald of Andraste, and they are calling me the Ansburg Mare!”

Something deep inside her lurched and Anne staggered back into the chair. Gripping the armrests, she made an ugly groan. It was as though something was hooked to her navel, pulling her belly down.

“Get Maude,” she gasped.

Rutherford rushed out of the room to send a runner while Josephine came to stand next to Anne. She was trying to fan Anne and whisper sweet words, but Anne could only gasp and cry out. The Commander returned with Maude maybe ten minutes later but by then the pain had all but died out. Everyone gave them the room while the midwife inspected her. Rationally Anne had guessed it was the false labor contractions Maude had warned her about, but it had felt so _real_.

When she was finished, a soldier came to escort Maude home while the councillors trooped back into the room. Anne was sitting very still now, not trusting herself in body or emotion.

Josephine was the first to speak, to offer some apology for the mismanagement at the beginning. Rutherford told her he would stamp out the nickname amongst his army, though he was admittedly shocked at how highbrow the name was for an army camp.

“It was Roderick,” Anne croaked quietly.

A dark look passed over Rutherford’s face and his eyes flicked to the spymaster.

Leliana offered no contrition, only soothing words for her labor scare.

It meant nothing to Anne. More than anything, she wanted to say her prayers and go back to her room and sleep. As she moved to stand, Rutherford came forward to steady her. She held up a hand to indicate she wanted no help. If she couldn’t stand on her own, she would simply sit back down.

Taking a deep breath, she found her balance. “I am going to pray, but this cannot happen again,” she stated. “We need…” She wasn’t sure what they needed. Trust? Loyalty? “Leadership. We need leadership.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for missing last week - between some health issues and a serious case of writer's block, I needed this extra week.
> 
> Anyway, we're finally getting to some pay off in this fic and I am _hype_.
> 
> I've avoided mentioning any inspiration for Anne up until now because I've been worried about spoilers. But Anne was actually named after Anne of Cleves, who was nicknamed 'the Flanders Mare' when she came to marry King Henry VIII.  
> [The Six Queens of Henry VIII](https://youtu.be/GbDn6xUAj5Y?t=23m25s) | [or a 2-minute rundown on Anne ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgXMVSlm7v8)
> 
> Thank you again to my beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).


	21. Before the Storm

Anne spent the next two weeks furiously preparing for the mages to arrive. Her purpose consumed her, letting her ignore her anger and frustrations. It also kept her mostly confined to the Chantry, allowing her to hide from the soldiers as well as the Iron Bull. Technically she knew nothing had changed and that he was still the same Qunari he had always been. It wasn’t exactly as though he had betrayed her trust. And yet she couldn’t face him. If he was in her path, Anne would change her route; if he was eating at her table, Anne would avoid his eyes. Dorian practically preened at this development, crowing like he had won a great victory. Anne then began avoiding him too.

Her world became the ink, parchment, and quill of Lady Josephine’s office. They rarely spoke, except to exchange information about the resources they were inquiring after and receiving. It was easier this way, Anne discovered. Reservation and decorum over familiarity and affinity.

Whatever anyone else thought about this development, they kept it to themselves. Word had spread at least amongst the inner circle of her outburst, and since then it appeared they were giving her as wide a berth as she was giving them.

Except, of course, for Madame de Fer. At least her conversation was every inch as perfunctory as Anne’s. She had chosen the day after the outburst to congratulate Anne on her excellent choice to conscript the mages. Anne appreciated the praise, though not necessarily the condescending tone it was delivered in.

It was a month and a day after the events of Redcliffe Castle when the mages marched into Haven, flanked by their Inquisition escort. Anne watched them filing in from the Chantry steps, a swell of pride sweeping her away.

Leaning over to Josephine, she whispered, “We have done something good.”

Josephine smiled back, completely in her element as she took over the directing of the mages. The King of Ferelden had sent them a tremendous gift of tents and resources for the boon of taking the mages off of his kingdom’s hands. Anne had wanted to create a separate space for them, walled in so that none could escape, but for the time that had to be scrapped. There simply wasn’t time for it, and Haven was not large enough to support a separate cantonment.

As the Commander had predicted, the addition of the mages was swamping Haven. They would either need to find a new base of operations or find another place to house the mages. He, Cassandra, and Leliana had been poring over the reports recently, looking for any sign of the Templars. There had been no word in the past few weeks, only that Therinfall Redoubt was shut and no one was going in or out. Anne told them to continue sending ravens, figuring the Templars would have to give in and help them with the mages eventually.

That night, Anne conferenced with Maude, Tess, and the Chargers. If the Iron Bull was concerned about her behavior and attitude toward him, he wisely said nothing. They now had a departure date: the day after tomorrow. In the morning, Anne, the army, and the mages would assault the Breach, and then the following morning they would leave for Ostwick. Maude voiced her concerns about Anne travelling this close to delivering, but Anne would hear none of it. Yes, she had had more twinges of labor pains since that night, but the Maker held her in the palm of His hand. He would protect her on the road and in childbirth.

After a final Council meeting with Solas and Rutherford to review their instructions for assaulting the Breach, Anne went to say her prayers and then to bed. The Chantry was very still, even quieter than usual. It was as though even the little dormice knew the importance of the next day. Laying on her side, Anne softly sang her lullaby to Julienne, but her daughter was having none of it. She was kicking and moving around, though how she found any room, Anne had no idea.

The lullaby was rarely any help these days. Nights were easily the hardest time for them, since Julie apparently didn’t like it when Anne kept still. Perhaps it was the cold of the room that bothered her, now that autumn was upon them. The soldiers had started dressing their kills during the summer, and the tanner had turned several of the pelts into a blanket for Anne. She snuggled deeper into the furs, trying to find some comfortable position for both of them, but nothing was working.

Bringing her marked hand out from under the cover, she held it in front of her face, her other hand tracing the crack of light. It brought the room to light, illuminating them in its ghastly green. What would it be like to return to the Temple tomorrow? Try as she might, she still couldn’t remember the day Max died. Some part of her wanted to return, in hopes it would remind her of _something_ from that day. But most of her was scared. Solas had explained his best plan for assaulting the Breach, and frankly, she wasn’t sure she believed in it. After all, she was no mage. How could she possibly channel and direct their magic? What would it even feel like to have all that magic ramming through her? Solas assured her it would be safe for both her and Julienne, but what if something went wrong?

Anne felt as though her mind was racing in every direction and going nowhere. Clutching her good hand to her forehead she lay back and tried to focus on something else - anything else. It was fruitless. All paths led back to the Temple tomorrow.

Faintly she could hear Tess in the other bed, breathing softly. If Anne listened carefully, she could set her rhythm to follow her servant’s. _Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe…._

Anne awoke with a start as her door creaked opened. She couldn’t remember falling asleep. As silent as the Chantry had been the night before, now it buzzed with activity. Tess and Josephine entered the room, smiles lighting their faces.

“My Lady Anne,” Josephine said, stepping forward to help her out of bed. “The Inquisition has a present for you.”

Tess stepped forward, a beautiful white fur cloak over her arms. Anne’s jaw dropped, she had never seen anything so fine. The shoulders were draped with a broad white fur, while a heavy white wool fell beneath to the floor.

“How did - ?” she asked, her voice soft.

“The soldiers killed a white wolf a month ago, my Lady,” Josephine replied, as Tess placed it over Anne’s shoulders. “We didn’t want to say anything, in case it wasn’t ready in time, but Tess has worked tirelessly to stitch it for you.”

Anne looked up at the women, tears in her eyes.

“Look, milady,” Tess said, tugging at the sides of the cloak. “Horses for Trevelyan, blossoms for Trave.” Along the seams, in tight, fine stitches, was a beautiful design of her two houses.

“Is this - ”

Josephine nodded. “Gold leaf thread? Yes. We thought a little luxury wouldn’t be amiss after months in that jupon.”

A thick giggle swelled in her. She hadn’t had anything so fine since her wedding day. Shrugging coquettishly so that her head rested on her furred shoulder, she wrapped herself deeper into the cloak. “It’s lovely,” she whispered.

Breakfast was a nervous affair. All conversation at the table was stilted and agitated, with no one speaking to Anne. Not that she was craving conversation. If she hadn’t been pregnant, Anne doubted she would have eaten at all. Her stomach was even less receptive than usual to the hardtack and gruel, but Julienne wasn’t going to keep all day.

Once she had eaten enough to keep Julie quiet, Anne moved to the altar to say prayers. A chair had been set out for her about two months before so that she no longer had to kneel, and she took her place in it now. Her head hung over her folded hands as she began her Exaltations. But today the words did not come easily. _Let me be the vessel, Maker._ _Bless me, keep me, protect me. Deliver me so that I may deliver Julienne safely - Maker, please grant me this -_

Her spiralling thoughts stopped as the doors opened and what seemed like the entire army poured into the Chantry. They knelt around Anne, crowding her until they were standing all the way back in the eaves to pray with her. A cold wind whipped through the nave and Anne looked to see that the village stood at the door, keeping it open. Everyone was praying this morning.

 _Someone should say something,_ she realized. Anne looked about her until her eyes landed on Mother Giselle and Chancellor Roderick, standing just off to the side of the altar.

“Mother Giselle?” she called. “Would you lead us in a prayer?”

The older woman’s kindly face smiled as she stepped forward. “With pleasure, my Lady Herald.”

Anne almost expected Roderick to groan in exasperation, but instead he simply left. Anne bowed her head again and was surprised when she felt the Mother’s hand on her shoulder. Looking up, Anne saw the same face that had helped her understand her role in this Inquisition so long ago.

“ _Then did I see the world spread before me,_  
_Sky-reaching mountains arrayed as a crown,_  
_Kingdoms like jewels, glistering gemstones_  
_Strung 'cross the earth as a necklace of pearl._  
_“All this is yours,” spake the World-Maker._ _  
“Join Me in heaven and sorrow no more.”_

 _“World-making Glory,” I cried out in sorrow,_  
_“How shall your children apology make?_  
_We have forgotten, in ignorance stumbling,_  
_Only a Light in this darken'd time breaks._  
_Call to Your children, teach us Your greatness._ _  
What has been forgotten has not yet been lost.”_

 _Long was his silence, 'fore it was broken._  
_“For you, song-weaver, once more I will try._  
_To My children venture, carrying wisdom,_ _  
If they but listen, I shall return.””_

Anne let herself slip away into Mother Giselle’s steady recitation of the Canticle of Andraste. It was much easier to focus on the Mother’s words and ignore her own worries. Her words seemed to stretch a calming eternity, but it was her final verse that made Anne look up.

“ _Those who oppose thee_  
_Shall know the wrath of heaven._  
_Field and forest shall burn,_  
_The seas shall rise and devour them,_  
_The wind shall tear their nations_  
_From the face of the earth,_  
_Lightning shall rain down from the sky,_  
_They shall cry out to their false gods,_ _  
And find silence.”_

Mother Giselle’s hand still rested on Anne, and when their eyes met, she gave her a small squeeze and smile. Andraste was with them - the Maker Himself was with them. He would not let the world be overturned into chaos. He would help them succeed.

* * *

 

Cold winds whipped through the mountain pass, and Anne was evermore grateful for her new cloak. As she rode up the mountain in the back of the wagon, she kept her thoughts on the Canticle. She felt shepherded by the words. It didn’t take much imagination to see Andraste in herself anymore. They were marching to retake her temple. She would not let them fail.

When they reached the Temple, Varric, Solas, and Rutherford jumped up to stand on the back of the wagon - Varric to let the army and mages know that not to touch the red lyrium, Solas to tell the mages to channel their will into Anne’s mark, and Rutherford to tell them all to hold their positions until his say so.

As they clambered off the wagon, Rutherford paused to help Anne down. It was a small touch, but reassuring. Following the others, Anne’s thoughts finally wandered. She had one happy memory here, and she was desperate to relive it.

Max had been the one to give her a reassuring hand the last time, his dark hair drifting in the wind as he helped her off her horse. He had proffered his arm and led her in while whispering about the other families he recognized. Several stopped to receive him, but he only waved and smiled. Anne remembered being slightly in awe of him and his clout - Trevelyans were always the greeted, never the greeters. The inside of the Temple had been magnificent, dwarfing both of them - a true feat for someone of Max’s stature. He had talked about how he would want to sponsor a chapel in the same style on his lands to mark the occasion. As they passed an empty room, he had leaned in and joked about perhaps blaspheming in this Chantry as they had the night before. She had giggled and nuzzled into his neck. She could almost smell his cologne again, if she concentrated hard enough.

The little tastes and touches the recollection offered her carried Anne down into the depths of the Temple. They were certainly an improvement on her last memory of this place.

As she reached her intended position, Anne took in the in the full destruction of the Temple. The red that had lurked in every corner of that evil future was just as ubiquitous here. The song wasn’t as strong in this time, though. Anne only felt it lacing over her skin, rather than into her sinew and bones. Dorian caught her eye, looked around as though he wasn’t much impressed, then gave her a wink. None of it was with his full gusto though - he was feeling the red and the memories as much as she.

Rutherford and Cassandra set about commanding the army into position while Madame de Fer and Solas ordered the mages. For a brief moment, Anne and Fiona locked eyes. The pain in her eyes made Anne’s lip curl in disgust. The council had discussed executing her for her scheme with Alexius, but it was decided they would wait until they assaulted the Breach. If they failed, they might need both of the traitors.

Anne turned her back to look up at the heavens. Here the sun almost didn’t shine, here there was a green tinge to world. It wasn’t as harsh as after the explosion, but still. It was the same light that she saw every night before falling asleep.

Anne felt her hand crackle with anticipation as above her the Breach spasmed, as if in recognition. Rutherford and Solas came to stand next to her.

“Whenever you are ready,” the mage said.

Anne’s jaw set. The sooner they finished this, the sooner she could finish packing. One step closer to going home.

She nodded once, and Solas turned to face the mages. He was giving them their orders, but Anne wasn’t listening.

Anne focused her eyes on the green above her, letting it fill her vision. Solas was murmuring instructions, telling her she needed to build a bridge from both ends. _Like needs like_ , she thought. _Green to green_. Her hand flared to life as she heard the slam of mages driving their staffs into the ground. Green lightning seemed to weave through the rocks surrounding her, like a slowly fracturing mirror.

_Andraste, guide me._

Something was taking her over - an instinct, an understanding that wasn’t her own.

 _Maker,_ guide me.

Her good hand arced behind her and she felt the magics connect. She was a conduit, the wick of the candle. The mages were wax, giving the magic form. And the fire was within her and above her. Her right hand slammed shut, holding the mages on a leash as her left hand burst open.

Green rained from above. The light was spilling out and over and everywhere. She could taste it now - pure and sweet. The rifts had always reminded her of ichor and sickness, but was milk and honey. A right that had been wronged, yearning to be righted again. The Fade was pulling her in, sweeping her into its fold.

 _We have to become one to separate_.

Green was filling her - every pore, every hair, every piece that made Anne _Anne_. She felt old, she felt newly born. She was time, she was decay. One and many. Purpose and intent made flesh.

_Let go._

The world whited out and Anne was falling.

Above her there was an implosion, just as strong arms caught her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up way longer than expected, so Battle of Haven is next!
> 
> Also, I'm removing the chapter count because I keep thinking things like Redcliffe are going to take a chapter and then they stretch for three. So...take that as you will.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare).  
> Let's fangirl on [Tumblr](http://xmedea.tumblr.com/)!


	22. Without His Light

It was only by the grace of the Maker that Anne didn’t faint.

There was total silence around them. People who had fallen were coming to their feet. Rutherford came up from his knees, raising Anne with him. Solas reached out to help her steady herself as she stood.

It was an odd feeling - Anne hadn’t realized how loud her mind had become with the Breach cracked open. There had always been a strange buzz in the back of her head, a deep ache that she had come to ignore. But now there was true silence.

_It’s done._

Something like a nervous giggle caught in her chest as cheers went up behind them. Footsoldiers and mages were roaring and hugging; some of the rowdiest were even playfully punching each other.

A tension all of Thedas had been feeling had snapped, replaced by something so gentle and airy, Anne might have called it a rainbow if it had more colors. The heavens now flowed with a soft stream of emerald light. It reminded Anne of the last lines of the Canticle of Andraste:

 _From these emerald waters doth life begin anew._  
_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you._ _  
In my arms lies Eternity._

A shiver ran through her spine, but it was soon forgotten as they made their way back to Haven. Everyone was cheering. Some were singing, others taking swigs from flasks. Today was a day for joy.

When they reached Haven, they found the celebrations had started without them. The cheers were deafening as Anne’s wagon pulled through the gates. People were reaching up, offering her their hands, their prayers, even their beers.

Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana pushed through the crowd to the side of the wagon, asking if the Breach was truly closed.

Rutherford nodded, yelling, “Solas confirms it - the heavens are healed.”

The common folk began cheering for them, shouting “The Inquisition!” over and over. Rutherford flushed, though Anne couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or pride. He seemed to sense her eyes on him, and he looked down to her and offered his hand.

Slowly she came to her feet and the Commander raised their joined hands.

“The Herald! The Herald!” went up the cry.

Anne felt her face flush too as the Commander stepped down from the wagon, letting her stand by herself. She raised her marked fist in the air, smiling broadly. She didn’t want to admit how much she loved this moment, but her sense of pride was so fulfilling, she felt drunk on it.

After a moment, she realized she was about to cry in front of all these people and she had to step down. Leliana and Rutherford helped her clamber off the wagon. The crowd immediately pressed against them. Turning to the side so she could quickly wipe her tears, Anne then let herself be swept away in the people’s cheers. She slowly pushed through them back to the Chantry. The hands reaching for her were still gentle. They wanted to touch something holy.

When she made it to the Chantry, she came to the altar and stared at the statue of Andraste.

 _How can I thank her enough?_ Anne wondered.

She bent slowly over, pressing her forehead to the altar. _Thank you, Andraste,_ she prayed. She tilted her head up slightly to kiss the altar cloth. _Thank you, Maker._

_We’re alive, we’re safe, we’re going home._

* * *

In her moment of glory, Anne hadn’t realized the town was half drunk already. By nightfall, she felt like everyone other than herself was well and truly sloshed. Even Tess had gone off, and Anne couldn’t blame her. The mood itself was intoxicating.

She stood at the bonfire that had been built near the Chantry, warming herself. Someone had brought out a fiddle and people had been dancing and singing for hours. People were requesting their favorites and Anne called for Whiskey in the Jar. A cheer went up and soon they were clapping along and singing rambunctiously.

Dorian sidled up to her. “You look radiant, if I do say so myself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.”

Anne certainly hadn’t forgotten how handsome Dorian was, and she flushed at his compliment and looked away.

“So what now, my dear?” he asked, nudging her gently.

“Home to Ostwick.” Anne’s blush deepened at the endearment. She hoped he thought she was just overheated. “Julienne is going to be a true Marcher girl.”

Dorian gave a disapproving cluck at her pronunciation. “You’ll need to work on your Orlesian, my dear, if you’re going to give her an Orlesian name.”

Anne paused, realizing the dichotomy of what Dorian had said.

“What is it?”

She looked up, startled out of her thoughts. “I just noticed - I want her to be a true Marcher but I’m giving her an Orlesian name.”

“Well, then, change her name,” he pronounced, as if it were that easy.

“But - but I’ve been calling her Julienne for months!”

“So?” he asked. “She’s not born yet! Besides, do you really want to name your daughter after how Orlesians slice their vegetables?”

Anne shifted. She hadn’t even thought about how julienne had two meanings. Dorian certainly had a point. Maybe she could choose a name like Max’s or -

Above them, the Chantry bell began to toll.

The village froze, the fiddle ending on a strained sharp note. Anne looked around to see the Commander rushing forward to the gate. Across the lake there were dozens - if not hundreds - of little lights floating down the mountain. Something big was coming.

Anne had a moment of distant panic - trying to figure out how she could fight. It felt wrong to stay behind, but she couldn’t go into battle, not without endangering Julie.

 _“HORNS UP!”_ roared Bull from across the village.

Anne turned and made eye contact with him. He was gesturing for her to get to the Chantry. She swept up the stairs and through the throng to her room to get her bow, quiver, and baselard. Belting the short sword just above her belly, she watched the crowd. The people coming in now were injured, and the sisters were making a poor attempt to triage them.

Anne and Mother Giselle’s eyes met in understanding, and they marched up to the door together.

“No, milady!” shouted Tess, grabbing Anne by the cloak. “You can’t go out there!”

“I’m not,” Anne snapped in annoyance. “But if they get close to the door, we need to be able to defend ourselves.”

Something bright caught her attention and Anne turned to see fire arrows raining from above and several thatched roofs catching fire. There was no ignoring the screams.

A blonde youth appeared at her shoulder. “I will help them. You stay here with her.” He touched her belly briefly, and Anne met his pale eyes with confusion. Then he took off in the direction of the screams.

She watched him go for half a second, then turned back to Mother Giselle. “We need to get all the healers set up. Worst cases at the front, minor injuries at the back.”

The Mother gave her a curt nod and started organizing the other sisters.

Taking one look back at the gates, Anne remembered that the Commander kept the trebuchets primed and loaded - they were as fortified as they could be. People were still running towards the Chantry, but now Anne saw most of them were wounded. She wouldn’t be able to sort them all by herself.

Anne sent Tess to Mother Giselle, telling her to get someone to help. When she returned, she had a healer with her, but even the two of them couldn’t keep up with the casualties coming in. On top of the civilians, the army was now running their injured back to the Chantry.

Anne sent Tess to help the healers, pushing her cloak over her shoulders to keep it from getting stained. From the back she could hear Mother Giselle calling for those with small wounds to make their way towards her voice. The Chantry was almost full, and the people were still coming.

As the last few stragglers made it inside, Anne’s heart eased. She looked over her shoulder to the worst cases; fortunately, there were less than a dozen badly wounded.

Something unfurled at the back of her mind, something like -

Her feet carried her to the door just as a screech rent the air. Red burst brilliantly into Anne’s mind and she nearly collapsed. The corrupted lyrium - she could taste it like she was at the Temple again. Tess was shouting at her, her hands keeping a block of wood in a burn victim’s mouth, but Anne had already rushed out the door.

_What’s happened? Where is it?_

Something heavy was dragging through the air. Anne could hear it. There was another red screech and a dragon flew over her.

Anne’s jaw dropped. She had never seen a dragon before. As it flew over the burning houses, Anne saw shards of red protruding from its body.

 _Maker, it’s corrupted_ , she realized. She watched as the dragon circled over the mountains. It was getting farther away, looking as if it was surveying the battlefield, but the red was getting louder again.

Anne looked down toward the village in confusion. Cassandra and the Commander were rushing towards her, yelling something, but she was staring beyond them. The red was behind them, emanating from Templars firing arrows and charging her army.

Anne’s mouth fell open in horror. Had Corypheus corrupted the Templars?

She felt a strange jolt at the base of her throat, driving the air out of her lungs.

She blinked several times in confusion. The left side of her neck was was suddenly aching. Her perplexed eyes met her Commander’s horrified ones and she followed his gaze downwards.

To an arrow lodged in her neck.

Anne felt her legs go weak and large grey arms scooped her up. Bull was carrying her into the Chantry. _“Stitches!”_ he roared.

Through fluttering eyes, Anne could see that Bull was laying her down on the floor of an eave, away from the crowd. Stitches was undoing her cloak clasp, trying to avoid moving the arrow. He didn’t succeed. Anne screamed as the arrow grated inside her.

Tess was suddenly above her, resting Anne’s head on her knees and forcing that piece of wood into Anne’s mouth to bite down on. Anne screamed behind her clenched teeth as Stitches poked and prodded around her wound. It felt like an eternity before he said, “She’ll live. The pelt kept it from hitting the important stuff.”

Anne felt a small relief at that. The aching burn worsened every time she took a breath, but at least it hadn’t hit Julienne. She reached up with her good hand to keep it from moving with her breathing.

The inner circle crowded around, all looking battleworn. Blood and red spattered them in equal amounts - they had fought hard, and she could see in their eyes that they had lost. This was not a temporary retreat.

“We don’t have much time,” Rutherford said, his voice as tired and resigned as his face. “The dragon stole any we bought with our trebuchets.”

“Do we have any means of escape?” Solas asked, shouldering his staff.

For a moment no one spoke.

“I - I know a way,” said a voice from the corner. Chancellor Roderick sat in the shadows with the strange youth who had touched Anne’s belly. “Through the back of the Chantry,” he continued, his voice thick and uneven. “I...I must be the last person who knows it, after the Conclave…” He gave a ragged cough and blood began to trickle from his mouth.

“He saved Tolbard,” the strange youth said. “Now he’s dying.”

Anne’s eyes searched instinctually for Tol. “He’s with Grandmaude,” the youth told her.

_How does he do that?_

“You think very loudly. I think it’s because of this,” he said, bending down to examine her marked hand. He looked barely out of childhood up close. Anne noticed Solas was watching him very carefully.

Bull gave the boy a sweeping glance, then turned back to Rutherford. “Can we get everyone out without the enemy noticing?” He sounded like he already knew the answer.

“No. They’ll come after us, and with that dragon we don’t stand a chance. There’s only one option,” Rutherford replied, his voice resigned. “We turn the trebuchets on ourselves.”

“No,” whispered Josephine.

Rutherford shook his head. “Bury ourselves, bury the enemy.”

“Can we negotiate? What do they want?”Josephine asked, a clear note of panic in her voice.

“Her.”

The youth had turned so that he was peering into Anne’s eyes, as if trying to understand why.

“Corypheus only wants you.”

Somewhere above her Anne heard Varric sputter. Bull glowered at the youth, Rutherford heaved a sigh. The others exchanged looks, then turned back to argue, as if dismissing it completely. “Let me go,” said Blackwall, just as Rutherford volunteered, “I will go.”

Leliana shook her head and spoke with detached pragmatism. “You would most likely be killed before you could turn it, and then the dragon would come after us.”

“She’s right,” Bull acknowledged heavily. “But we’d all be scorched if they wanted her dead. They want her alive.”

The answer fell into place before Anne even knew the question. What the boy had said about Corypheus, how Bull had glared at him, the resignation in Rutherford’s eyes, it all led one realization: this was the end.

Anne shut her eyes and exhaled.

“It has to be me.”

She felt the whole world shift around her. She was looking at the day before with new eyes. It had been beautiful, clear and cool and crisp. She had always loved autumn. The way trees slowly changed colors, all the harvest festivals she had grown up celebrating. Everything she had eaten today had tasted so good. Every apple had been sweet and tart, every meat pie well spiced. She had been able to spend most of it with friends and Julie.

Maybe it was the Maker’s way of giving her something perfect before it all had to end.

Everyone turned to look down at her in surprise. Only the blonde boy looked as though he understood. Gently he took her hand, as if in sympathy.

“Let me be the vessel... Two lives for…” he stopped, looking up at her in confused surprise, “Two lives for a village and an army.”

Anne pulled her hand away as if he had scalded her, biting back at yelp at the grinding in her wound. Almost no one was looking at her now, but she could sense their guilt and shame.

The Commander came next to her, bending slightly. “We can’t ask this of you,” he whispered firmly, “not when you’re…”

Anne wanted to believe it, wanted to believe him with all her heart. But it wasn’t true. The complete unfairness of it all it was swallowing her. Maybe this was where her path had always been leading. Maybe this was what the Maker saved her for. _I can play for time, I can get them out._ Her eyes went down to the arrow and she grimaced at her belly. _But why does Julienne have to die too?_

A sob cracked open in her chest. Anne tried to raise her hands to cover her face but they caught on the arrow. Her face contorted in pain and Rutherford put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met and Anne understood: whether because of honor, duty, or something else, she knew he would never admit he believed she was their only chance.

She let out a sigh that she felt with her whole body, and all her resistance went out with it. Brushing his gloved hand from her shoulder, she turned onto her side and rolled up.

Rutherford’s eyes widened in surprise as he moved to support her. “My Lady, your wound - ”

There was a small part of her that snickered at the form of address. _Oh,_ now _it’s ‘my Lady’?_

Anne allowed herself to be supported, collecting herself as best she could. It should be simple enough... _get out there, distract Corypheus, let everyone escape, and then…._

Anne’s legs went weak. The arm around her tightened and she looked up into her Commander’s helplessly frustrated eyes.

“I should do this,” Rutherford said, though Anne wasn’t sure to whom.

Anne inhaled deeply, shaking her head. “Andraste asked to be the final sacrifice. I can do no less.”

_It has to be me. I’ll distract Corypheus, everyone will escape._

_And then we will die._

Her brown eyes met the Commander’s wide amber ones as he steadied her. For a moment, she was back in the throne room at Redcliffe. Their paths were colliding again, pushing them into another impossible situation. As she wondered why it kept coming back to them, she realized: the Maker ordains all things.

_‘I walk only where You bid me, stand only in places You have blessed.’ We took your work and we undid it._

_I’m the sacrifice this time, just like he was before._

Tears came to her eyes again, but Anne refused to shed them. A bitter smile came over her face.

Soldiers knew that look, a look only earned by battle, with its own kind of rough dignity: a soldier’s smile.

“Break it for me,” she whispered.

He frowned in confusion, looking down to the arrow.

“Break it,” she repeated unflinchingly. She reached down and guided his gloved hand to the shaft, her eyes never leaving his.

His face was softening, coming to accept her decision. After a moment Cullen’s other hand came to the fletching. “On three?” he asked, watching her carefully.

Anne nodded resolutely.

“One - two - ”

He snapped the arrow early, and Anne cried out in pain. Her marked hand spat green as she clenched her fists and bit her lip to silence herself.

“Thank you,” she panted, taking a moment to compose herself. She raised her eyes and held his gaze. “Get them out, Commander. Make this count.”

His mouth hardened into a grim line as he nodded. “I’ll send up a flare when we’re clear.”

She started to walk away, but Bull stopped her. “Chargers!”

The mercenary group came forward. “We gotta get the Boss to a trebuchet and turn it around. Understood?”

Their faces tensed and darkened. They knew the odds they were facing. Even still, when Skinner murmured, “Horns up,” they all echoed her.

“Thank you,” Anne whispered, looking at each of them. Her eyes landed on Bull and she felt a pang of regret for the past two weeks. _If I had known I would_ …. She took a deep breath and said, “But when I say go, _go._ ”

The Chargers started to file out, led by Bull. Grim came to stand beside her, looking uncharacteristically cheerful. “Good a day as any,” he said, shrugging at her confusion.

Anne gave a wan smile. “Or night,” she replied and he gave her a gruff laugh.

“Maker save our lady Herald,” Roderick rasped from the corner. Someone else called, “Andraste preserve you, Herald!” The room filled with a chorus of prayers, and Anne felt like she was looking at them from on her funeral pyre.

Her voice nearly cracked as she whispered, “Maker watch over you all.” She tried to move her drawn face to smile, but there was no heart in it. This was her end. Hers and Julienne’s.

She stepped out into the cold night, drawing her cloak carefully around her. Grim kept her to the rear of the others while also covering her back. There were not many Templars left in the village. It seemed they wanted to get out of the dragon’s way. The Chargers’ path had been carved by its fire.

Anne stayed with Grim, her hands cradling and stroking Julienne. _I am so sorry, my baby girl,_ she thought. The Chargers were fighting off some straggling Templars ahead. _Your first word was going to be ‘ma’._ Anne’s eyes filled with tears. _I wanted to teach you all about Max, everyday I was going to tell you something new about him._ Her feet kept carrying her towards the trebuchet. _I thought the Maker had a plan for us... I was going to give you a better world._

Anne choked on her emotions, and every step was daggers. She turned the corner to their intended trebuchet and clutched at her belly. Her mind was telling her to stop, to ignore her feet and her destiny and _Maker take it all,_ _I came so_ close _, Julienne. I’m so sorry I didn’t run away and save you._

She stumbled, her feet not wanting to take her forward. Anne gritted her teeth and wrenched her left foot up - _let me be the vessel_ \- right foot - _which bears the light of Your promise_ \- left foot - _to the world expectant._

_Let us be the final sacrifice._

The Chargers had the trebuchet mostly turned now, but Anne’s presence on the field hadn’t gone unnoticed. From across the lake Anne heard the dragon screech and take flight. This was going to be it.

“Go!” Anne shouted to the Chargers. They started to obey as she clambered up onto the trebuchet. Bull helped her up so that she was next to the lever.

She looked up at the sky. The dragon was almost upon them.

“ _Go!_ ” Anne shouted at Bull, her whole body bending with the emotion of the plea. She clasped the arrow stump to hold it steady in her heaving chest. “Get your people out!”

Bull looked up at her, resignation coming over his face. “ _Asit_ _tal-eb_ ,” he whispered. It was what he had said when she told him about Max: it was meant to be.

Anne set her jaw. She wouldn’t let it be over until it was truly over - for Julienne.

As Bull turned out of view, the dragon bathed the woods around her in fire. Shielding her eyes from the light, Anne heard a crash felt the red tear a jagged streak through her mind.

There stood Corypheus. It had to be him - the red flowing through him was as potent and putrid as his corrupted dragon. It permeated his skin, deforming him around itself.

Anne’s other hand went to her belly, nausea sweeping over her.

“Pretender,” he whispered with snide pride. “You toy with forces you cannot ken.”

_Keep him talking, keep him talking, keep him -_

“What do you want from me?”

He laughed - a cruel, sick sound, almost as though his bones and the red protruding from him were battling to make the sound. They were almost at the same height with her on the trebuchet, red eyes nearly in line with her brown ones.

“I want you to know you are no Herald.”

Anne’s head snapped up in anger. “The Maker chose me Himself!” she shouted.

“No,” he snapped. “You interrupted a magic years in the making.” He thrust a large stone orb into her face. It sang like the Fade. “Or don’t you remember?” he asked, as if he already knew.

_Keep him talking, keep him talking, how could he know that?_

“Why don’t I remember?”

But he didn’t care to answer, instead snatching her marked hand from her belly. “Know me - know what you have pretended to be.”

He wrenched her up so that she was on her toes, holding her palm as Anne felt something straining from inside her. Anne’s hand went to her belly, thinking it was Julie, but then she felt her hand burst open, the emerald light filling the space around them.

Corypheus roared, as if straining to pull the light out of her, but the green suddenly bore down on her and with a final wrench, expelled the red that grasped at her.

The red in him screamed in fury as Anne’s eyes crashed shut. She expected the red to drown her, but instead all she felt was the soft emerald curling through her. _It’s protecting me_ , she realized.

His fist dropped her abruptly, making her fall to her knees. Suddenly he was laughing at her. “Yes, exalt the Elder One.”

Anne suddenly remembered Mother Giselle’s voice, reciting the Canticle of Andraste. “ _Let the blade pass through the flesh - ”_

“Are you praying to your Maker?” he asked, his voice caustic.

“ _Let my blood touch the ground -_ ”

“Do you think he hears you in your hour of need?”

“ _Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice_.”

He bent down to her, placing a hand on her head like a benediction. “There is no Maker,” he whispered. That voice could have been paternal if not for the red shrieking in her ears and cruelty of his words. “Let me give you one last truth, one I lived thousands of years to learn. I have walked the Fade and I have seen the Black City. I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.

“There will be no Maker to greet you when we are finished.”

Anne’s prayer stumbled. _No, it couldn’t be._

He stood to his full height, and Anne slowly followed him, her eyes hungry for understanding just as the flare lit up the sky beyond the Temple.

“The Anchor is permanent, now you can only serve in death.”

Even without a Maker, it was true. She could only do what she had set out to do. Before Corypheus could reach for her again, Anne snatched at the trebuchet’s lever and pulled hard.

As it swung, Corypheus turned to see its boulder smash into the mountain above. Anne slid off the trebuchet and started running as fast as she could, her mind pounding with the need to keep Julienne safe, futile though her attempt might be. Behind her, she could hear the beating of wings and the avalanche bearing down on her. Looking ahead, there was a hole in the ground.

Anne circled round the hole, looking inside - there was a slope down and it was big enough to hide her.

With one last look at the oncoming avalanche, she pitched down the hill.

For a moment there was was thunder shattering directly overhead, Anne thought her ears would burst. Snow was bricking up above and behind her. Then, just as suddenly, there was absolute silence.

Raising her marked hand, she took in her surroundings. It looked like the same sort of mining tunnel as the other passage to the Temple. As she came to her kness, moving to stand, she felt a familiar tug just behind her navel. _No. No, no, no no..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the other historical inspiration I used for Anne was Joan of Arc, and the reason I never said sooner was because Joan actually received the same wound at the Siege of Orleans and I didn't want to give away the game. [This painting](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DfBdFonX4AA0eu1.jpg) is actually very similar to how I picture Anne, only about 50 -75 pounds heavier.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by Florence and the Machine (Anne), 80s New Wave (Corypheus), and Hans Zimmer for everything else. It has been my biggest labor of love so far, and I need to thank everyone and their mother. Especially my beta's mother. So shout out to my beta, [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare) and her mother!
> 
> Please, please comment - I thrive on your comments.
> 
> P.S. I've got a [Tumblr](http://xmedea.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> P.S.S. If you're interested in hearing Anne's request, it's Luke Kelly's version of [Whiskey in the Jar](https://youtu.be/Yfwjoztf2Dk).


	23. Abandoned and Delivered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qunlat translation:  
>  _Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun_ : The tide rises, the tide falls, the sea is unchanged.

“I am not having my baby in a blighted _cave!”_

Anne braced herself against the wall, clutching at Julienne. She could feel the tell-tale warm trickle between her thighs. Her the baby was coming _now._

“How am I going to do this?” she wondered out loud, looking around the cave desperately. There was a clear path ahead, but how long would it take to get out? And how long would it take to find her people? Was she safer here than trying to -

“You need to wait here. We’re coming!” said a voice.

Anne screamed as something touched her back. She turned to see the strange youth from earlier behind her. “How did you…” Her voice died in her throat. The only path in from that direction was now entombed in snow. There was no earthly way for him to have snuck up behind her.

“What _are_ you?” she whispered.

“I’m Cole,” he replied brightly. Then he vanished.

Anne nearly fainted at that. She had never seen any mage disappear; it shouldn’t be possible. But the youth had just done it.

She slumped back against the wall, confused, scared, and very, very alone.

* * *

 

Anne was still trying to keep count in her head between contractions, but kept tripping up. It was getting harder and harder to keep her thoughts at bay. The contractions were coming about every ten minutes now, and it had been at least two hours. Whoever was bringing Maude was taking their sweet time, or was gone…

Fear was lacing its way through her thoughts, sewing doubts into everything. What if Cole wasn’t real? What if she had just desperately imagined someone saving her and no one was coming? What if she was going to die here?

She whined as another contraction wracked her bottom half.

“Boss?”

“Oh no, not you.”

Anne winced at her own frankness. It was hard to be diplomatic mid-contraction.

Bull laughed and came to stand over her, a heap of sticks in his arms. “Good to see you, too.”

Anne peered up to see Stitches and the strange youth behind him, their cheeks flushed with cold and arms full of wood. “Where’s Maude?”

“She couldn’t make it,” said Stitches, coming over to examine Anne. “How often are the contractions?”

“Every ten minutes,” Anne said. “Why isn’t she here?”

“There’s a blizzard out there,” said Bull. “She can’t walk in that, so you’re stuck with us.” He flashed her his most obnoxious grin.

“Get the fire started, Cole,” Stitches said, coming around to rub Anne’s back.

“How?”

Everyone’s head swiveled to stare at the youth, the sudden movement making Anne shout as it jerked the arrow still embedded in her shoulder. Cole’s voice was bright, like a child’s. Who could have lived past age ten without knowing how to start a fire? Icy suspicion crept up her spine - was Cole even human?

She moved unconsciously further toward Stitches, to angle Julienne away from him - from _it_.

“I’ll do it,” grumbled Bull. After collecting a few rocks to make a circle around the kindling, he pulled out his flint. Anne started pacing while Bull and Stitches tended to the fire until it was big enough to start boiling some water.

“I need to see how far you’re dilated,” Stitches said, turning back to Anne.

_No._

Anne felt a punch in her gut as the next contraction started and she realized Stitches meant to deliver her baby.

“ _Twisting, breaking, endless pain. He can’t do this, I need Maude,_ ” Cole recited. “Don’t worry, he’s been practicing.”

“No, no no, no,” she gasped, trying to clench her muscles to stop her labor. It was all so much worse with it here.

Anne hid her face in her hands, unable to stand the thought of that _thing_ reading her mind. It made her feel unclean and somehow violated. When the contraction passed, she moved to get as far away from Cole as possible. “How is it doing that?” she asked the others quietly.

Bull and Stitches exchanged looks. “We don’t exactly know,” Stitches replied hesitantly. “But we followed him here. He said you think very loudly.”

Anne had no idea what in the Void that meant. She started pacing, her body slowly unlocking itself from the contraction. Now that it had passed, it suddenly seemed perfectly natural and easy to hold out for her midwife. “Well, I’ll just wait out the storm, then,” she announced, folding her arms.

Bull raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think she’s gonna give you that option, Boss.” He pointed to her belly. “Julienne’s got plans tonight.”

Anne glared at him. “Why are you even here?”

“Hey,” he said, his voice mockingly wounded. “I thought we were all patched up after the whole you nearly dying thing.”

That set Anne’s teeth on edge. “We’re fine, we’ve been fine.”

Bull snorted. “So that’s why you’ve been so happy to see me these past few weeks?”

Anne turned away, refusing to look at him. When she’d thought she was about to die, she had been full of regret. But now...now she had survived and was in labor, trapped in cave with only two men and an _it_ , and she was feeling less than reconciliatory.

She let the time pass until a contraction came, and her cries broke the silence. The pain was changing now, winding her lower back tighter and tighter until Anne felt she might snap. Again she tried to clamp down on Julienne’s progress, but it only made her pain worse.

Stitches came over, trying to help, but Anne jabbed at him with her elbow and tried to move away.

“Void take your noble’s pride,” he said exasperatedly. “Maude trained me, I know what I’m doing.”

Bull looked over at her. “It’ll feel better if you don’t try and stop the labor.”

“Liar,” she retorted.

His deep laugh rumbled through the cave.

Anne tried to give him her dirtiest glare, though the pain mostly just made her look bitter. “What’s so damn funny?”

“That’s his name,” volunteered Cole. “Well, his _other_ name. When he’s under the Qun.”

Bull’s laughter died immediately. He didn’t seem to like Cole digging around in his brain anymore than Anne did. Grumbling something like ‘ _Fade-y little shit_ ’, he moved away from Cole and came to loom over Anne. “Look, whatever that preening peacock said about me, you need to get over it and let Stitches help you.”

Anne glared up at him, gasping for breath. The contraction was passing - so what did she need Stitches for? She could wait out the storm, wait for them to bring her to Maude and real shelter.

She switched topics. “Do you really still serve the Qun?”

He crossed his arms and exhaled heavily. “I told you from the beginning, I’m _Ben-Hassrath_.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know what that meant,” she snapped.

“That’s not my fault.”

Anne’s face twitched in anger and hot tears filled her eyes. “But I trusted you - I trusted you with _everything,_ ” she yelled, surprised at her own volume. “I thought you understood, and all this time you were just doing it for the Qun. You were my closest frie- ”

Her face reddened, too embarrassed to go on. It was far too childish to say out loud.

“Protect, befriend, report. _An easy mark, but a good person._ ” Cole looked up at Bull curiously. “Just got to get her to open up, work with the others. _Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit,_ but her sea is changed. In another life, she could have been a Charger.”

If looks could punch, Anne’s would have sent Cole reeling. “She doesn’t like me. Why doesn’t she like me? I’m trying to help.”

“Because you’re being creepy as shit, kid,” Bull muttered.

They returned to silence: Bull stoking the fire, Stitches cleaning his tools, and Anne collecting herself.

“Anne?” Stitches said, his rough voice soothing. “Why don’t we look at your wound?

That, she believed, he was capable of handling. She had seen his work with the refugees in the Hinterlands. Gritting her teeth, she finally nodded.

“Okay,” he said, coming around to her. “We need to get your cloak off, but it’s going to hurt.”

Anne bit her lip. She was already so tired of feeling pain. _Better to get it done all at once_ , she thought. “When my next contraction comes,” she decided. “What about my surcoat? My kirtle?”

Stitches smiled and held up a pair of scissors. “We’ll cut around them so that we won’t aggravate the wound.”

 _Void take this, not my clothes_ , she thought, clutching at Tess’s beautiful work.

Bull and Stitches worked to bring the water to a boil faster, and Anne went through another contraction before it was ready. Trying to stop them was getting harder and harder.

Five minutes after the water came to a boil, Anne’s next contraction started, she felt as though her lower back was twisting her down with it. She used the cave wall to settle into a squat, trying to relieve the pressure, as Bull came around behind her.

“When you’re ready,” Stitches said, coming to stand over her, unfastening the cloak.

“Now,” she growled. With steady hands, Stitches pulled the left shoulder of her cloak up over the stump of the arrow. Anne screeched through her closed mouth. He was careful, but there was no avoiding moving the arrow, and she could feel it grinding inside her.

Throwing her cloak behind them, Stitches brought his scissors up to her shoulder.

The contraction had passed, but Anne whined again when Stitches started to cut.

“We’ll get you other pretty dresses,” Bull assured her mockingly.

Anne wanted to reach up and slap him. It didn’t help that Cole was watching them intently. It was already insufferably humiliating to be going through this with two men she knew, let alone a stranger, especially an inhuman stranger.

Bull pulled her head back as Anne saw Stitches reach into his kit and pull out a healing potion. Washing his hands with it, he picked up a set of tweezers and doused them in potion too.

“What are you doing?” she asked, panic creeping into her voice.

“A trick I learnt on the battlefield.” Stitches nodded to Bull. Two large Qunari hands came up under her arms to hold her head in place.

“What are you - ”

Her voice was cut off as her face contorted in a silent scream. Stitches was prodding the tweezers into the wound. Her muscles shrieked as the tweezers snagged on their edges, causing more blood to flow. She fought against Bull, trying to escape his strong grasp.

“I need to flush out anything that might cause infection,” Stitches was whispering, as if Anne was listening.

She was still scrabbling to get free, her feet kicking out at Stitches. Her vision went white and a shriek escaped her as the tweezers came out, replaced by heavy bandages to stem the blood flow. “You - you - _you fucking_ _bastard!”_ she howled, not even sure where she was directing her insult.

Bull laughed behind her. “Knew you had it in you,” he said proudly.

Anne wanted to murder them all.

As soon as Bull brought his arms down Anne jerked away from him. “Get away from me.”

Righteous fury pounded through her. Or maybe it was just her pulse. She was keenly aware of how fast her heart was beating, and her wound felt like it had its own heartbeat. Holding the bandages tightly against herself, Anne moved to the back of the cave, away from the fire, away from the others. At least her blood wasn’t gushing out. Maybe the potion trick had helped. Maybe.

 _This isn’t fair_ , Anne thought helplessly. _Max should be here. I should be at Ostwick. I’m supposed to have the birthing chair and my mother and my husband should be anxious and proud and_ alive _._

The ice and snow felt like it was burning into her heart, taking away all her happiness. Anne saw Cole raise its head and she shot it a look that told it not to repeat her thoughts. Lost in her sulk, Anne was unprepared for her next contraction.

This time her scream cracked as she tried to stop her labor.

Stitches scrubbed his face in obvious frustration. “I need to see how far along you are.”

“No,” Anne panted, trying to breathe through the cramping she was causing herself.

Bull came to squat in front of Anne. “He’s the only one who can do this.”

Anne shook her head, her face crumbling as she tried to stop herself from crying again. _I can’t do this, I can’t do any of this._

“Green in the darkness, Julienne kicking to get out, a lullaby for both of us. _I can’t do this, I don’t know how._ ”

“Shut up,” Anne yelled from behind her hands, thick tears now flowing.

“Anne,” Bull said in a soft voice. She peered between her fingers at him. “How many times have you said ‘I can’t’ in the past six months?”

Her mind went back over her time in the Inquisition, from her archery lessons to trudging through the Hinterlands to every moment in the future at Redcliffe…

“A lot!” Cole answered from the fire.

“S _hut up,_ ” Bull and Anne snapped.

Cole frowned but put its hands in its lap and returned to the fire.

“I know you can do this,” Bull said, moving to block Cole from her view. “And you know you can do this, because you’ve got to.”

Anne’s body vented a sob so heavy, it hurt her wound. Rubbing her wet eyes with the heel of her good hand she turned to Bull. “Corypheus said there is no Maker,” she whispered. “That I’m a mistake, that this,” she pointed to her marked hand, “was because of his spell.”

Bull put a hand on her knee, taking a moment to see if she would recoil. When she didn’t, he leaned forward. “So?”

For a moment, Anne thought he was being derisive. But when their eyes met, she saw nothing but kindness. Somehow it hurt more. “If I’m not sent by the Maker, then I’m not...I can’t do this alone, I thought he was guiding me, but if there’s no Maker then…”

She suddenly understood why she was so afraid and she choked on her words.

“ _Then I’m not protected,_ ” Cole finished, quietly.

Her sob echoed through the cave, even as she tried to tamp it down. Bull didn’t try to stop her crying, instead coming around to sit next to her. He carefully slung his arm around her to hold the bandages, and Anne found herself curling into him.

It wasn’t even a day ago that she would have been horrified at herself. Allowing a Qunari assassin to take care of her, to help her again, but she needed her friend.

When her next contraction started, she found herself screaming, her back grating against the rocks of the cave floor. But this time, she let her body flow with it. Instead of trying to clamp down on Julienne’s movement, she kept breathing until she found a rhythm to get her through the pain.

“Warmth, embrace, gentle love like a steady heartbeat, _I am moving but where am I going?”_ Cole said absently.

Anne looked between the others, confused.

“Was that one of you two?” Bull asked.

Anne and Stitches both shook their heads - no.

“No, it was that,” Cole said, pointing at Anne’s belly.

Anne’s jaw dropped,  _It can’t mean…_

“Are you hearing Julienne?” Bull asked slowly.

Cole shrugged. “She doesn’t know words, but she has feelings. You call her Julienne but she doesn’t know who she is yet.”

Anne’s jaw dropped. The thing was repeating her baby’s thoughts. Anne looked down in shock, realizing she hadn’t considered Julienne a person yet - just a lump in her, living and growing with her. But Cole could hear her thoughts, her consciousness. Her free hand cradled her belly, drawing soft patterns across Julienne.

“Can she feel that?” Anne asked Cole.

He nodded, coming over to her. “She likes that, and when you sing to her. It’s soothing.”

Anne blinked at it. She had never seen it before the battle last night. How could it possibly know about her singing?

“What...what are you?” she asked guardedly.

“Solas said he’s not a demon,” said Bull. “But you’re definitely not a mage either.”

Cole sat back on its heels, clearly thinking hard. “I’m...different,” it said finally. “I’m not a mage, I’m not a demon, I’m not an abomination.”

Bull looked back at Anne, shrugging. “What does that leave, then?” Stitches asked.

“I...I came from the Fade to help people,” it answered unsteadily. “I want to help like you do. You sealed the sky and now the spirits aren’t screaming anymore. I can help, too - I helped find you!”

But Anne wasn't listening, she was enraptured by her baby. Julienne had thoughts - had feelings - her own consciousness. Likes and dislikes all her own. Of course she knew Julienne was a person, but Cole was telling her Julie was real in a way Anne hadn’t understood. Her baby was already a person.

Anne turned her arm at an awkward angle to catch the ties of her surcoat. Slowly she undid the knot on her right side, then her left, careful to never move her shoulder, then pulled the surcoat off by its hacked neckline.

Bull and Stitches came to help her up, and Anne allowed them to take her kirtle off. It was a three person job, with her wound. Finally she was down to her chemise, the heat of the fire keeping her warm.

Anne looked up at Stitches with tears in her eyes. Part of her wondered if he had ever delivered a baby, but a much larger part did not want his answer.

“So,” she said, moving to pace near the fire. “How are we going to do this?”

* * *

 

Overall, it was an unremarkable labor, except that it was hers. Anne wasn’t sure how long they were in the cave. The pain of labor and the agony of delivery ate away the rest of her memory for the night. Later, when she would try to recall how they passed the time, she would remember Stitches sewing up her wound and wrapping a poultice onto her neck and shoulder area. The tangy feel of the elfroot mixing with her blood, the taste of his health potion when he had finished. After that, the hours blended together, with everyone trying to satisfy their own boredom. Cole kept trying ask to Bull about _Tamassrans,_ whatever they were, and Seheron, while Anne paced and sang and Stitches reviewed his notes on childbirth.

Exhaustion eventually settled into her bones, and during each contraction Anne wasn’t sure she would live. There was no way to endure this kind of agony and survive.

Then her baby began to push through her.

Bull told Anne to scream as loud as she needed to, and she didn’t need any encouragement after that. The two Chargers seemed rather proud of the blue streak she was swearing, as if they had helped her craft the words themselves.

Maybe they had. Anne couldn’t remember.

Her life had shrunk to the size of her own body. Julienne was turning her inside out, breaking her slowly apart as she came out.

Anne knelt on the ground, facing Bull, at first crushing his hands with her own, then his arms, and then finally his horns. Stitches kept reassuring her she was doing well, that Julienne was doing fine, that everything was going right, but the agony was too much, too intense to hear.

She was disappearing into the sensations, into the twisting and gnawing and wrenching of her body. Her pelvis was like shattered glass being ground deeper and deeper inside her.

Until -

“I can see the head!” Stitches yelled over her.

Anne wailed, her body bearing down with every contraction, but now she could hear her purpose.

A new voice entered the world, crying as loudly as its little lungs could allow.

Anne’s heart broke, her body going slack - it was over. It was over.

And there he was - her perfect little boy.

All those months assuming she knew best, and life was proving her wrong again. It didn’t hurt that she was wrong about Julienne being a girl, it just felt like another example of her failure.

But when her brown eyes met his bright sapphire ones, the world really did stop for her, she could swear it. Tears fell from her face to his as she reverently touched her forehead to his.

Maude was right, he did have a full head of hair. Anne gave a happy giggle, he really did look -

“ _Just like Max,_ ” whispered Cole, coming to sit next to her.

Bull and Stitches carefully helped arrange her so that she was nestled with her back against the Qunari, but Anne barely noticed. She was suddenly so full and so empty at the same time. Her body felt completely different from anything before, and she was lost in it.

 _Max, you should be here for this,_ she thought desperately.

Cole looked up at her, then at her baby boy. “He is,” it whispered, its hand cupping the boy’s face. “ _Our baby will preserve him_ , remember?”

For a moment, she was back in the Hinterlands, staring up at the stars. Anne could remember feeling whole and happy, safe and purposeful. It was when she decided to fully commit herself to the Inquisition, to give their child a safer world. Max was with her, always, and now she had a living memorial to him.

A small whimper escaped her, and she was overcome with gratitude and pride. Her heart and body were so full with love. _I’ll never take my eyes off you, not for a moment_ , she thought fiercely. _You’re all mine. I’ll watch you grow up, I’ll watch you discover everything, I’ll keep you so safe._

She made a million promises that night to her little baby Max.

After an hour, they began to slowly pack up. Anne struggled slightly with walking, but managed until they reached the edge of the cave. There was no way for her to walk through the knee-deep new snow in her dress, so Bull picked her up carefully, Stitches placed Max on her chest, and they set out. Cole said he could find the Inquisition since “there’s nobody else’s thoughts to get in the way,” and they followed him.

It was almost dawn. Light was beginning to break over the mountains. Anne wavered in and out of consciousness, only fully aware when she thought Max needed her. After maybe an hour or two, Bull made to set her down.

“I think you need to stand for this, Boss,” he said, pointing with his head down the mountain.

There in the valley, Anne could see campfires. There was less accumulation on this side of the range, making it easier for her to walk. As they made their way down, the sun’s first light broke behind her. Anne could hear voices announcing them, people were streaming out of tents and toward the edge of the camp.

She didn’t want to face them, didn’t want anyone else to see her this vulnerable. This moment should have been hers, and no one else’s. But there was no way to enter the camp now without being noticed. She cradled Max closer to her under her cloak and soldiered on.

When she came to stand in front of the crowd, the council rushed forward, their eyes disbelieving. Only Mother Giselle looked unsurprised.

Anne didn’t know what to do, she had nothing to say.

A deep voice cleaved the silence:

 _“Shadows fall, and hope has fled._  
_Steel your heart, the dawn will come._  
_The night is long, and the path is dark._  
_Look to the sky, for one day soon,_ _  
_ The dawn will come.”

Leliana joined Mother Giselle’s hymn, then the soldiers, and soon the whole camp was singing and kneeling to her. Even the Commander was singing.

She could feel the crowd’s support and devotion, but it meant nothing to her. To them, she was still holy. Still touched by the Maker. The Herald who would right the world.

Anne was numb to it all. All she had now was Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge, huge, h u g e shoutout to my beta [DragonIfYouDare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare)!
> 
> Head's up: I'm at the end of act II here, which is where my detailed outline ends. So I'm probably going to take a week or two off for plot purposes.
> 
> Let's geek out together on [Tumblr](http://xmedea.tumblr.com/)!


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